Dissonant Echoes
by DestineyTot
Summary: Lisa had begged her son to see past the sins of the humans who burned her, but this was one thing Alucard could not forgive. Instead, he becomes a distant shadow of his father, dwelling aimlessly inside the castle and waiting without purpose for events to come and pass. Then in comes wandering a certain Belmont, and things naturally descend from there. Alucard/Richter.
1. The Sound of Silence

**AN:** I was so, so inspired to write a fic based on this prompt: "What if Alucard doesn't listen to his mother's dying wish? What if instead he stays inside the castle and lets his father run rampant, refuses to help out Trevor and the gang, and basically lives his life without ever having sided with the humans? Then along comes Richter, and things get really messy really fast."

Some potential warnings for this story! It will include moments of dubious consent, some pretty dark content in regards to personal agency, and of course Alucard being a bit more devious than he is in canon.

* * *

 _"I see my vision burn, I feel my memories fade with time."_

Alucard remembers the first Belmont to have ever stepped foot inside his father's castle. At least, the first to do so in his own lifetime. He remembers the entourage that tiptoed their way through the caves, where one of his crypts laid, of how their footsteps echoed off the slick walls ominously, their breaths haggard and heartbeats quick in their chests. He could smell the blood from their wounds, half-dried and some new, but saturated with trepidation nonetheless. He remembers the Belmont's scent vividly, an alluring bloodline instilled with generations of hardy, fearless strength. A scent one would not encounter daily, but perhaps a few times throughout their life.

What had been the name he'd heard in between their hushed whispers… Trevor? Trevor Belmont? That must have been it.

Alucard had laid deathly still in his coffin, daring not to even breath as they passed by him. He'd heard the turmoil signaling their arrival, the shrills screams and roars of the monsters they slew. He didn't even afford himself the slightest twitch of his fingers, his ears straining to listen for how close they came. And yet, his little alcove was never disturbed, and Alucard found himself deflating, almost somberly, at the missed opportunity. Not to join up in arms with them, as the witch and former noble had, oh no.

What else had there been for him to want, except for a legendary encounter with one of those famed Belmonts? Still, he picked over his thoughts carefully, and came to the conclusion that perhaps it was best he not interfere with their little holy crusade. Their numbers, while normally not intimidating in the least, could prove to be fatal if he were to engage any of them. Ordinary humans typically posed little to no threat, but a spellcaster, what was essentially a trained rogue, and a notorious vampire hunter? Alucard was no fool. Son of Dracula aside, his tainted roots would do little to help him when the odds were so stacked against him.

So he laid, and waited until they had passed through the caves, and even then, Alucard had contemplated whether or not he should even rise tonight. And if he did, what would he do? There were only two possible outcomes that could come to fruition by the end of it all, and his choices were limited. Either his father would slay the little group of humans, or, by some unfathomable miracle, they would exit victorious, and the castle would most likely crumble away.

The denizens here wholeheartedly believed that he would assist his father, for surely no son would allow harm to find their parent. Yet, there was no obligation there for him, no familial or emotional ties that called Alucard to his father's side. In all honesty, his dwelling of the castle was more out of a sense of having nowhere else to go, rather than staking a claim on a side. Alucard existed as a ghost in a home that once held so many fond memories, but now housed only pain and hatred. Its glorious hallways were an empty echo of what they had once been, a mirror of the master that seemingly refused to leave his throne in place of seething and remembering the injustice done to his love.

To Alucard's mother, who deserved not an ounce of the pain inflicted on her by the humans that she had sought to help. He understands his father's bitterness, his sudden hatred and disdain for all the lowly mortals of Wallachia. Alucard understands, and he shares it to a certain degree, but not to the genocidal one of his father. He'd coped by locking himself away behind the castle walls, by detaching himself from the people that his mother once commanded him to respect. Her dying wish had been the same, but Alucard could not abide her this, could not allow the words to pass through his mind. There were many things he could forgive of humans, but this sin was not one of them.

So to have these humans roaming around his father's castle, lurking with the intent to kill, roused the slightest bit of interest and apprehension in him. It was only the thought of losing his last parent that stung, but the reality of it would be different. The man that had once been his father was no longer there, replaced by a beast that Alucard can barely recognize these days. He doubts his father even spares a thought towards his way, for he has not tried to speak to Alucard since the tragedy that took his wife. That had been but a few years ago.

Alucard is grateful, though. He's not sure he even has the right words for his father.

It must have been a day, at most, since the humans' passing of his crypt. He'd dozed between wakefulness and slumber, his eyes opening every once in awhile to try and assess the situation. But the only warning he ever received of the fight's outcome was the sudden, terrible shaking of the caves, and the explosion of noise as both walls and rocks began to crumble around him. Alucard's heart had leapt into his throat, and he'd slung open the door to his coffin just in time to narrowly miss being impaled by a stone spear.

He'd rolled away from the impact, watched as it had splintered his coffin in two, and barely managed enough time to scuttle out of the cave before the entire ceiling was collapsing. Alucard knows not of what he may have left in the casket, but he knows that he can feel his mother's sword attached to his belt, and that's all that matters to him. He could lose anything else, but the sword must always remain at his side.

Deep in his heart, he knew of what had transpired. It was as if someone were clipping away the strings attached to the organ, one by one, painfully decimating his ties to his father's castle. He knew why, could see it crumbling before him as he raced to the outside world, dodging both corpses and rubble as he made a mad dash forward. His father, the only blood tie he had left in this world, had somehow been slain, and now his place of dwelling would follow suit.

Alucard would have to relocate somewhere else, seek safety until the castle inevitably rose again. He knows of the curse placed upon his father, but this… this is the first time Alucard has ever experienced his loss, and it wears upon him like an infected wound, driving him weary and pained. It does not lessen the heartbreak any less.

He finds a safe spot in the forest below, by the lake where the castle had been perched over it. The sunrise crests on the horizon, and Alucard, who'd sought shelter in the thick canopy of trees, narrows his gold eyes through the first glittering rays. The castle itself is still crumbling, but now it grows faster, and the great spires that rose near the throne room tumble and sink into the lake, sending massive waves of water floating upwards. Once they have gone, the rest seems to implode in on itself, and the home that had once been eternal to Alucard is no more. Only the dust remains, and Alucard has to force himself to look away. The sun beats down on his cheeks, warming them uncomfortably, but the slight shift in attention has him discovering something else.

Standing upon a rocky outcropping above the forest and towering over the lake is the visage of the humans that had brought upon Castlevania's downfall. Alucard can see clearly, despite the long distance, the way the hunter's arm is curled around the witch, and how their rogue companion stands off to the side, watching them with an unplaceable look instead of gazing upon the castle's destruction. For one chaotic moment, he is filled with the sudden desire to crest upon that outcropping and drive his sword through the both of them; hunter and witch alike. Alucard imagines that he would purposely leave the third one alive, if not just so that the image will forever be ingrained into his mind. He's suddenly and violently filled with such a strong sense of retribution and self loathing, he can barely contain the trembling in his arms. For a moment, he berates himself, hates himself for not going to save his father. Monster or not, these humans had no right doing what they have, and Alucard feels the familiar burn of the disdain he has for them grow tenfold.

Then, like a great exodus, the emotion is leaving him in a long gust, and Alucard feels as though he hasn't slept in a century. His anger dissipates into a deep melancholy, and his eyes turn once more to gaze at the empty spot in the air where the castle had once lingered. The sun shines brighter, stronger than before, a mocking celebration of its fall. Alucard's skin begins to grow uncomfortably hot in the light, and he tugs the high collar of his cape up to block out some of the rays. He's not sure how long he lingers there, in the forest, but once he has allowed himself to glance at the hill again, the humans are gone, and he is all alone.

Castlevania is gone, and so is his home.

He knows not of where he will go, but he wanders for a while afterwards, skirting in whatever available shadows he can find. Alucard has not prepared many crypts outside of the castle, but there is one… however, this particular crypt is also the home of many bitter memories. As things are, though, he doubts he has much choice in the matter. He doesn't fancy the idea of venturing into a city to procure a new coffin, either. Besides, the possibility of raising suspicion and the act of interacting with any human by this point seems ill-advised. Alucard doesn't want to be responsible for a split-second massacre.

So he makes his way to where his mother rests - in spirit only, of course, since it was impossible to find any decent remains of her. The crypt is well hidden in the deepest outskirts of the forest, purposely stowed away so that no one would ever disturb it. Alucard has not visited his mother's resting place for a long while now. When she had first passed, it had been almost a nightly routine. But as time dragged on, his visits seemed to dwindle more and more, until the act of staring at the empty sarcophagus - save for a few of her items, such as her favorite dresses and jewelry - became almost insufferable.

The crypt is much the same, except for the bright roses that seem to have exploded in numbers over the years. His mother's favorite, a tudor rose, the soft shade of pink that she loved to incorporate into everything. Alucard had not planted the flowers himself, but he had a sneaking suspicion of who might have. Still, it's a reflection of her beauty, and it makes the sting in his heart burn all the more once he sees them. The path leading to the entrance is lightly cobbled, with black wrought iron fences enclosing the premise, its frame twisted and bent into swirling and floral patterns. The crypt itself is made of bright, smooth stone, and its walls are lined with torches that have not been lit in years. Upon reaching the inside, he is both pleased and relieved to see that nothing has been tampered with.

His mother's sarcophagus is the centerpiece of the room, but Alucard's eyes drift to an adjacent chamber, where an old and weathered coffin lies unused in the darkness. He has not slept inside this one, not for many years. It had once been stationed in the castle, stowed away in his room, but after his mother's passing, he'd brought it here, as a means to sleep by her spirit if he were ever wont to. Now is as good a time as any, he surmises.

His father is dead for the first time in his life. The castle is little more than rubble at the bottom of a lake. Humans are unworthy of his trust nor his affections, and their cities can burn to the ground for all he cares. There is no other creature in Wallachia that he can trust, except for himself. So, yes… he will sleep. Sleep until wakefulness decides to find him again. Perhaps it will be at the dawn of the new century, or when the castle has risen again. Perhaps he will sleep for hundreds of years, undisturbed in the forest that often scares many away.

The weariness Alucard feels sinks deep into his bones. His chest is naught but a hollow ache now, and his eyes droop with fatigue and grief. He thinks, as he opens the gold rimmed lid to the coffin and sets to settling inside of it, that if he were to sleep and never wake again, that would be ideal. He doesn't crave death, but life suddenly seems too full of misery, too full of distrust and detestation for the beings around him.

He hopes he will never wake again.

Of course, nothing is ever as he wants it to be. He does sleep for a long while, a little over three centuries, but when he awakes, it's with a sudden and terrible wrenching of his heart, a pounding in his head, and the screeching of monsters that has the forest screaming with despair. Alucard's nails scrape against the roof of his coffin, and he draws his first deep breath in centuries. His lungs feel underused, his throat terribly dry and cracked, and his voice is naught but a slight croak when he tries to use it. His limbs feel leaden, dead without use, but he takes a long moment to refamiliarize himself with everything, slowly regaining his motor function with the passing seconds. His barely peeks his fingers under the lid of the coffin, and pushes it up enough to see that it is indeed the dead of night. The crypt is pitch black, save for the few moon rays that spill in from the roof. Alucard lies still for a while, the lid still half raised, taking in all the monstrous sounds around him.

It's a chorus of howls and shrieks, of inhumane garbling and barking. He makes out the sound of something passing through the forest on all fours, of wings beating rapidly against the night sky, of bones rattling and casting hollow sounds throughout the crypt. There's tinkling laughing, too smooth and seductive to be a human, and metal clanking against each other, the tell-tale signs of armor and weapon meeting each other. But above it all, off in the far distance, but not too far away, is the great rumbling of something rising from the earth. Alucard's breathing has stopped, the stagnant air stilling around him as his heart beats wildly, pushing old and stale blood through his veins.

He knows what this feeling is, had felt something similar to it when his father had first been defeated, but now the implication has been subverted. This is not his father's defeat once more, but instead his uprising. The rumbling in the distance is of stones patching themselves together, of grandiose hallways and rooms rising in all their splendor, and the roars that surround him are all the creatures of the night seeking their way back to the home that had once been theirs. Not only theirs, but Alucard's as well. His father is alive again, and Castlevania stands tall once more.

He finally pushes the lid of the coffin up, and as he rises from it, he finds that his hair has grown considerably over the centuries. What had once ended at his mid back was now an almost white curtain that extended down past his thighs, the pale tresses having grown even paler throughout the years. Alucard pays it no mind, however, even as his hair spills past his limbs like spider's silk. All he cares for is the longing in his heart, of the call and beckon of the castle that draws him back. He cares only for the way his throat burns and his body sings for sustenance.

With the forest screeching as loudly as it is, surely it will draw the curious human close, and Alucard will take his sweet time sating his hunger. Perhaps he will take a few, or lure one towards his father's demonic structure. He won't bank on it, however, considering how many other monsters roamed towards the castle as well. Perhaps a succubus would beat him to the chase, but only if he's not quick.

He must make haste, then, if he's to feed properly before addressing his father again. In the meantime, however, he wonders idly about the world, of how it's changed during his slumber, and of whom would find their way to Castlevania this time around.

He knows of the Belmonts, and if history is anything to go by, surely one of them will find themselves wandering by once more. He will not miss his opportunity to strike this time, will not miss his chance to play with them before they bring yet another end to his father, or fall in the final fight. Perhaps he will even kill them himself, extend the long and terrible reign of his father's monsters upon Wallachia. Alucard doesn't care either way.

* * *

 _"Nothing tears the being more than deception; unmasked fear."_

The night is terribly cold, and the wind and rain bites at Richter's skin like shards of ice. The cloak he wears does nothing to deter the elements, only serving as a sponge to soak in the cold and have it cling tighter to his skin. The road leading to the village had been strife with danger, namely in the way that a grim reaper himself had thrown scythes at him mercilessly. It'd been a miracle that he hadn't suffered any major wounds in the short battle, nor that his carriage hadn't been wrecked during the encounter.

Still, his arms sport thin cuts, reminders of painfully close calls where one slow reaction could have been a limb or his head. His jacket is soaked and ripped, stained with thin patches of blood where the cuts have bitten through it. He'd barely managed to fight off the incarnation of death without losing control of the carriage, and he'd nearly sank in relief once the monster had given up its attack.

Upon reaching town, he finds it in shambles. The buildings are ablaze, deep plumes of black smoke rising high up into the sky, though the rain keeps the fire from truly consuming everything it touches. The streets are barren, save for the occasional unfortunate corpse here and there, and the monsters of the castle roam freely, shambling about the shards of glass and splintered wood. Richter knows that to stay and fight them all would be foolish, as their numbers would never cease growing until the castle itself was brought down. So he fights through the ones that purposely block his path, and pointedly tries to ignore the instincts that tell him to stay and defend the broken village.

Despite the chaos already running amok, it was only the beginning, that much he knew. The castle still stood before him, housing a hundred horrific creatures inside of it, or perhaps even more than that. Surely there would be something even more abominable waiting for him, not counting the vampire that waited in its tallest tower. The ones that lumber through the village streets were of the lowest rung on the ladder, the fodder that clung to the outside of the castle wherever it roamed.

Richter had read of each and every one of his ancestor's expeditions into the castle. He'd tried to soak up all the knowledge he could in regards to the structure that housed centuries of pain and suffering. He knew that the inside was constantly changing, and that no map or memory would serve him well inside of it. He knew of monsters that would rather corrupt and enslave any who came inside, rather than try and tear them to pieces. A fate worse than death, many agreed, as the unlucky few survivors who ever emerged from it were left with deep, unforgiving psychological wounds.

He knew that women were more often than not the unfortunate victims of these crimes. The fact that they'd taken Annette was a testament to this, and he dreaded to think of what could be happening to her right now. His mind raced with a thousand, awful things, of torture and sinuous acts that set his stomach turning with nausea. He could not linger on those thoughts, however. He couldn't afford to be weak in the face of adversity, not when Annette's life hung in the balance. Who was to say that there weren't other innocents inside, either? Richter had to stay focused, had to keep his mind clear of worries if he were to succeed in saving anyone.

Trevor had not let emotional weakness stop him. Simon had capitalized on it, using his anger and fear as a righteous tool of justice. His grandfather, Juste, had managed as well, even as two of the closest people in his life threaded the line of life and death. He would not bring disgrace to his family name, would not be the weak link of the Belmonts.

The castle rises high in the sky, towering over the village that it leeches life from. It seems almost pitifully easy to walk right into it. Richter knows that this is most likely a trap, one that he is willingly setting off, but he cannot let fear dictate his actions now. Though the thunderstorm still rages, he shoves his cloak off and tosses it aside, letting the rain-heavy item pool in the mud by his feet. His clothes are quickly becoming soaked, his wounds stinging in the cold, and his hair is whipped wild by the winds that rage around him. Behind him, he can hear the sizzling of the fires fighting against the storm, and ultimately losing.

"Annette…" He takes a moment, closes his eyes, says a silent prayer to himself. God give me strength… His hand settles over the whip attached to his belt, the legendary Vampire Killer that had soaked in generations of monstrous blood. He can feel the faint pulse under his hand, a sentient sort of singing that knows… knows of the savagery that awaits him.

Richter waits no more, and crosses past the walls that house the most awful horrors of the world.


	2. Rain of Roses

The bottom floors of the castle are often home to the muck, but there lies a garden in the midst, and a prince in wait.

* * *

 _"I'm alone in here. No more feelings. Killed my fear."_

From the first, long-winding hallway, the castle had proved to be just as devious as Richter had perceived it to be. The shadows that blanketed the entrance were thick, unbelievably so, and he'd barely registered the wet, cold breaths in front of him before a ghastly visage of a ghoul was making itself known. Only then did it seem that light flooded the chamber, and suddenly, he was staring down the shambling forms lining the hallway.

He'd barely had enough time to jump back, and his hand had flown to his face to shield himself from the rancid vapors that clung to them. Their eyes had turned to fixate upon the new intruder, empty, black sockets that sagged with dead, rotten skin. Richter had fought ghouls before, but this particular batch seemed even more grotesque, as if they'd been submerged in water for an ungodly amount of time. The way their flesh was bloated and bubbled in spots only lent to that particular observation.

They were just as mindless, though, and easy first targets for his whip. Their limbs didn't quite so much sever from their bodies as it seems like they just fell off at the slightest amount of force. The maggot infested extremities had Richter drawing back again, his forearm coming to cover his mouth as he averted his eyes. He hoped to God that the other denizens of the castle weren't as grotesque. How anyone could exist in their proximity was beyond him.

That had only been the beginning, and as he delved deeper into the bowels of the castle, the ghouls' numbers dwindled, but the monsters grew more intelligent, more bloodthirsty and devious. Richter found himself wishing for a pair of eyes in the back of his head, as they seemed to ambush him from all angles, preying on his weak, human eyesight and taking advantage of the castle's winding architecture. And the hallways! They seemed to branch off into a hundred different directions, and he more often than not found himself walking by something that he'd swore he'd saw only a few minutes earlier.

"How any man could live within these walls and stay sane is beyond me," He'd found himself muttering, if not only to break the silence that clouded around him claustrophobically.

But of all the things he'd expected to encounter within the castle, the most unexpected must have been Maria.

The ritual chamber he'd stumbled into was dimly lit with candles, and at first he'd thought that the little girl that seemed to slumber peacefully must be a trap. There was no way the castle could house a human so safely. But then, Richter's eyes had lifted, and there floating by her unconscious body was the form of a robed man, grey and withered, old beyond his years, and audibly gallivanting to himself about the girl's supposed purity.

Once his prattling had delved into the perverse delusions of her serving the dark lord of the castle, Richter had made himself known, drawing his whip threateningly, his eyes narrowed in clear disgust. The robed man had turned and fixed him with widened eyes, the whites of them yellowed somewhat, but it quickly dissolved into a sharp scowl, his wrinkled lips peeling back to expose jagged and broken teeth.

Those same eyes drifted to the whip in Richter's hand, recognition flashing briefly in them, "A Belmont? So early? I must say, I'm impressed with your initiative. Though, your presence here is awfully annoying. No matter," he'd turned back to the girl, still sleeping, still unaware of the being that lurked over her predatorily. "I'm afraid I can't let you have this girl, vampire hunter. Her powers are too rare for me to let go so easily."

One wrinkled hand set out from beneath his robes, cryptic and mottled, to lay against the girl's arm. Richter couldn't stomach the sight, had lashed out with his whip before thought had crossed his mind. The man had drawn back in time to narrowly avoid being grazed by its metallic tip, his features pinching together and somehow creating even more creases in his skin.

"Touch the girl, and your damned arm is coming off. So if I were you, I'd step away. Now." He takes a few measured steps forward, and the floating man seems to draw back, cautiously. Richter's eyes flit back and forth between the sleeping figure, and the robes that hang in the air before him. The man, however, doesn't seem too deterred, his body still blocking Richter from the girl.

"You can't have her," The creature drawls, his voice a hoarse croak in his throat. "She's to be given to my Master, you can't have her!"

Richter does not expect the sudden flinging of magic in his direction. He can feel the sickly heat waving off of the green, almost viscous orbs that fly by him, and the sensation has his skin crawling with the need to escape. There's something inherently wrong about the magic, his instincts telling him that one hit could prove to be fatal. In what way, he's not sure, but he knows it's unholy, and it sends his stomach into knots.

So he lashes out once more with his whip, at first missing the figure that seems to float out of the way, but expertly weaves it in midair to snap back once more. It catches the creature by his face, and the robes nearly pool to the floor as the impact knocks him down. The sound of sizzling can be heard, of flesh melting under the consecration on the whip, and Richter draws back the weapon with a satisfied quirk of his lips.

The wound upon the man's face is deep, with blackened blood oozing lazily from it. The flesh is melded together, where it has seemingly melted around the cut, the skin ashy from burns and flayed. Richter draws his hand back, prepares to strike once more, but the robed man is hissing out a string of curses, and waving his arm in front of himself, his figure first going ethereal and then disappearing altogether.

His voice is an echoed whisper in the chamber, a pervasive intonation in Richter's mind. It has him covering his ears, his eyes screwing shut as the awful croak parrots inside his head, "Mark my words, Belmont; I will have that girl, or I will have you."

The sound of a soft gasp behind him has Richter turning, and the sight of the girl waking with a startled rise has him tucking the whip back into his belt and scurrying over to her. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" His hands hover, unsure of whether or not he should check her for wounds.

"I-I'm fine… I… I don't remember how I got here." Her voice is small, high pitched and full of childlike innocence. She rubs at her bleary eyes with one hand, while the other smooths down thick, blonde hair. "There was a scary man, and some other, older girls, and then nothing. I think he took us away to somewhere, but I don't know where." Her legs come to straighten before her, and she presses down the crisp folds of her pink dress. Her eyes flit to Richter, fear permeating them clearly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Richter. It's good that you mention the other girls, because I'm here looking for one myself. Tell me, what's your name?" He offers a hand to her as she walks forward, unsteady on her feet. She is short, barely clearing Richter's chest. She takes the offered hand, and allows him to walk her to the edge of the chamber.

"My name's Maria. Maria Renard. And yes! There were other girls, too. That awful man took all of us together. I don't know where they've gone, though. I must have fallen asleep, or…" She peers around the dark chamber, seeming uneasy. "There was Annette. I remember him talking about Annette, saying something about his Master, using her for something. I don't know what he meant."

Richter is releasing Maria's hand at that, and leaning down enough to meet her at eye level. His hands frame her thin shoulders, his face pleading, "You know of Annette? Please, Maria, you must tell me what you know of her! Did he mention anything else, anything at all?"

"I-I'm sorry, I'm not sure." She stammers out, her cheeks flushing with disappointment.

"Shit…" Richter catches sight of her eyes going wide, and his hand comes to cover his mouth apologetically. "Sorry, I'm just… very worried."

"I understand. This place is very scary. I kept hearing these awful screams and wails, but I don't know what they are. And that man… he makes me feel so uncomfortable. He kept talking about corrupting my powers." Maria crosses her arms over her chest, her hands coming to clasp upon the tops of them. Her teeth worry her bottom lip.

"I heard him mention that. Do you know what he was talking about?"

She nods, though seems a bit bashful with her response. "My whole family is blessed with the ability to summon creatures. I can do it too, but I've always been told that I'm too young. I think it's easy, though."

"That's quite impressive," And it's no lie. Richter had heard of a family capable of doing so, had even been told that they had distant blood ties to his own, but he'd never met someone from it in person, let alone someone who could still qualify as a child. "Listen, Maria, you should leave this castle. I know the entrance out, and I've cleared most of the way. Let me escort you out of here, and I'll take care of the rest, okay?"

She fixes him with a critical look, her brows quickly coming to furrow as her voice raises, "No way! I can't leave those other girls in here either! Who knows what could happen to them… I'll fight, too!"

"Maria, you're just a child-"

"Hush, mister! I know how to fight, and I might not look like it, but I do. I'll help you find them, and you can't make me leave until we've done just that." Her hands come to rest upon her hips, her foot stamping on the ground adamantly.

Richter sighs, his fingers coming to pinch the bridge of his nose, "This is ludicrous, Maria."

"But you're not saying no, are you? Look, if you're worried about watching me, I won't even follow you! I'll look for them on my own."

"That's even more ludicrous." Richter levels her with a disbelieving look.

"I'm good at sneaking around, and if any monster finds me, I can take care of them. I promise! Don't worry about me, Richter. You go find Annette, and I'll find everyone else. Besides, I can't leave until I know she's okay. Annette means a lot to me, too."

"Maria…" He wants to chastise her, to force her to return to the village. He'd shove her back into the carriage himself if he didn't fear she'd summon something against him. "Just… please, be careful. And find me if anything goes wrong. Please don't try anything foolish on your own."

She clasps at his hand with both of her own, her fingers barely managing to wrap around it fully. "I promise, Richter. Now let's get going! We can't wait around for something bad to happen, can we?"

It feels like the punchline to a bad joke. 'And that's how I ended up with a magical child companion.' Richter knows that if he survives this whole ordeal, his descendants will be laughing until their sides stitch up at his recount. Still, he allows Maria to wander off on her own, even though his heart feels like a heavy stone in his chest. He watches her until her floaty, bright dress disappears from sight, and even then, he listens for the first signs of struggle; a scream, a growl, anything to have him come running after her.

The castle remains eerily silent.

He must push on, he knows this. Maria was astute with her observations, knows that time is of the most importance, and Richter lets her unsettling words echo in his mind once more, 'Using her for something.' The very thought of Dracula laying his hands upon Annette has Richter wanting to gag, but above all, he feels his cheeks and ears burn with anger at the notion.

He'd rather die than live knowing he let her fall, or worse, succumb to corruption. If the robed man's intentions with Maria were any indication of their plans, Richter knew that these women could meet a fate worse than death. Any sort of objectification at these cretin's hands would leave life-lasting scars, and if he could help it, he'd stop it all before it even started.

So he stows away his worries for Maria, and swallows past the lump in his throat. There is still an obscene amount of the castle left to explore, and there's nowhere to go but up.

* * *

 _"House full of roses, a letter on the stairs."_

The gardens he crosses through are breathtakingly beautiful, a polarizing image for a castle so full of death and suffering. The roses that line the paths are bright pink, and widespread to the point that they seem to eclipse most of the other plant life. Tudor roses, Richter thinks, and bends the stem of one of them until it's snapping away, thorns and all. He half expects it to come to life at any moment and swallow his hand. It wouldn't be the first flower that tried to kill him since he arrived here.

But in the end, they are genuine roses, and the gardens are a slight reprieve of the endless hallways and lurking monsters. Strange, beautiful lamps line the tall, mosaic windows that run down the length of the courtyard. In the midst of the night, they cast calming, golden glows over the neatly cobbled gardens. If Richter closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that he's somewhere else, far from the horror and bloodshed, far from the wails and constant feeling of trepidation. He does just that, brings the pink rose up to his lips, and allows the sweet scent to lure him away for a moment, safe in his subconscious from the monsters that lie in the shadows.

The wind blows gently, rustles his long coattails, and feathers through his hair. It's warm on his skin, soothing at first, but then the temperature seems to drop suddenly, and the chill that runs down Richter's spine has him shuddering out a breath and squaring his shoulders. His eyes open briefly, find that the lights in the garden seem to be flickering somewhat, though no sound accompanies the strange phenomena. Richter glances about the garden, his head swiveling from left to right, but his eyes spot nothing of interest.

"Enjoying the gardens?"

The voice he suddenly hears behind him startles the rose out of his hand, and Richter feels that permeating chill return tenfold, sinking not only into his veins, but also his bones. His head turns sharply, his body following suit, and he twists around to locate whoever had been spying on him. At first, he sees nothing, except for the double doors leading out into the garden and the shadows that fill their entry point. He knows he heard a voice from that direction, however, and refuses to tear his eyes away. Cautiously, he takes a step forward, his hand settling preemptively over his whip, and his boots crushing the discarded rose on the ground.

"Is someone there? Make yourself known!" His stance widens, his body taking on a combative form. One hand strays behind his back, where a dagger lies in wait inside his belt. For a long moment, there comes no answer, and Richter can feel the beginnings of a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

But then, there comes a limb from the entryway, a boot clad leg, followed by another, and the ends of a gold-trimmed, black coat give rise to the rest of a man's figure. Richter can't prevent the widening of his eyes, nor the dumbstruck look that crosses his face at the newcomer. The man that stands before him is nothing like he expected, far from it. It's not the weathered visage of an old man or the rotten, expressionless face of a monster, but rather…

He is breathtakingly handsome, beautiful even. There's something unearthly about him, an unreal quality that suggests he's the product of a romanticist rather than an actual, living person. Someone better fit for a timeless painting rather than the real world. Richter has never quite gazed upon features so sharp, yet elegantly defined, nor has he ever seen eyes that shone so warmly gold . Even the lycanthropes he'd fought over the course of his young lifetime have nothing on the color, their eyes seemingly bland and colorless in comparison. And what long, spindly curtains of pale hair! They wave gently around this stranger's shoulders, and trace down the length of his black cape, touching the back of his legs at their end. And his skin, so smoothly pale, undeterred by the first blemish, smooth as cream and strangely inviting to eye…

It's all too familiar.

Richter shakes himself out of his dreamy reverie, his hand freeing his whip from his belt and letting the length unwind threateningly. "Vampire," The word is growled through clenched teeth, his bright, blue eyes narrowing.

"You are correct, to a certain degree. But I assure you, I am not like anything you've ever encountered before." The man - creature - seems unphased by the open hostility, his heeled boots carrying him further into the gardens. His gaze is cast over the roses, his expression painfully nonchalant, nonplussed by the situation.

"You're obviously a vampire. That's all the observation I need." Richter's hand twitches around the leather grip of his whip, waiting eagerly for the right moment to strike.

"So I am." The stranger murmurs, his voice a deep, soothing baritone. "But I haven't come to hurt you… son of Belmont. That is, unless you plan to hurt me."

Really, by this point, Richter shouldn't be surprised that the castle's denizens know him so well. They can probably smell the lineage on him. "Why else would you be here? If you have words for me, then you can shove them right up your ass."

"What a filthy mouth." He receives a disapproving frown from the stranger, the first sign of emotion on his otherwise neutral face. "And pray tell, good hunter, what if I've come to help you? What will you do then?"

"Drive this knife straight into your heart, because anything you say is going to be a load of shit."

"Oh?"

The dagger is flung from Richter's hand, aimed expertly at the vampire's chest. It flies with precision towards its target, but never finds it marks. Richter's lips part on a silent noise of disbelief, his eyes drawn to where the vampire's hand has shot out and grabbed the dagger by its blade, preventing it from piercing his heart. He hadn't even seen his arm move, the motion having been too blurred for his eyes to trace. And still, those gold eyes bore into him, not even sparing a glance at the dagger clasped between his fingers. Richter watches warily as he holds the weapon out, and allows it to clatter to the ground.

"Your manners need work." Then, he finds the vampire's hand drifting toward his side, where the cape is pulled back, and the form of an elegant, silver-sheathed sword glimmers in the moonlight. His gloved hand settles over the handle, where his fingers curl over it one by one. Richter feels his throat going dry, his tongue turning to stone in his mouth.

The sword is drawn, slowly, with the singing of steel permeating the quiet night air. The vampire before him performs a noble showing of dexterity with the blade, swishing it intricately in front of himself before baring the tip at Richter. The leather grip has gone slick in his hands now, the whip's handle feeling flimsy in his grasp. The vampire peers down the bridge of his narrow nose at him, his gold eyes eerily bright now. "Allow me to teach you a lesson."

He's disappearing in a blur of red and black shadows, his body seemingly phasing out of existence before Richter's eyes. The only warning he receives of where to brace for impact is the cold gush of air that flies past him, and settles at his back. Richter is turning then, as quickly as he can manage, trying to give his arm enough momentum to crack the whip, but his reaction time is too sluggish, and not nearly the equal of the vampire that opposes him.

He finds the edge of a blade pressed against his throat, threatening to bite through his white kerchief and take his head clean right off.

There's a voice at his ear, cold and smooth and chilling, "Do not take me lightly, Belmont. I could very well be the thing that sees you surviving this castle. I could also be the one to slice your head from your shoulders and bleed your body dry over a keg. Do not test me."

"You've threatened my life and hold me hostage at your blade. I'd sooner rather die than take your help."

"You threatened me first. I am only showing my intolerance for such things. Listen to your hypocrisy." The blade is pulled forward, and Richter cranes his head back, trying to escape it. He feels something soft meet the back of his scalp, and peers out of the corner of his eyes to spot the pale tresses spilling over his own shoulder. "Still the same, I see. Three centuries have done little to change you humans."

"Don't know what you're talking about, but if you plan on killing me, I'd rather you get it over with. Unless you're one of those vampires." Richter tries his best to lace his tone with venomous sarcasm.

There's an amused laugh at his ear, the cold breath that gusts over his neck causing goosebumps to rise. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps you will find out. But I've no intention of killing you here. Not with our first meeting. I've yet to see anything interesting. Where is the joy in that?"

At last, the blade is being lifted away, and Richter takes the opportunity to stumble forwards, his footsteps carrying him far from the vampire. He turns once a good dozen feet is placed between them, his face flushing with anger and self-directed annoyance. "You'd better kill me first before you try anything. If I live through it, it'll be the worst fucking decision you've ever made in your life."

"I'm thoroughly convinced I could change your mind, if allotted the time." Richter holds his whip at bay, watches with the eyes of a hawk as the vampire begins to circle around the garden in slow, graceful strides, his longsword still held at his side. His smooth, pale lips slowly turn up into a poisonous smile. "You've seen naught but the bottom of the castle and its most vile locations. I assure you that my chamber is nothing like that."

It takes a moment for the words to mean anything to Richter, but once the implication sets in, his face is morphing into a grimace, his eyes coming to narrow at the vampire in a clear show of disgust. "I have a fiance, and this thing called dignity. The only way I'm seeing your chamber is if I'm killing you inside of it."

"Oh," There's a soft huft of laughter to his right, where the vampire is passing through a canopy of willows and roses. Richter can just barely make out the white of his hair. "How unfortunate for you then. I fear you have a grim surprise waiting for you, Belmont."

That has Richter going silent, his voice momentarily dying in his throat. He stumbles over the words in his mind, hoping that what he heard was mistranslated, but no… what could that mean?! Was Annette already in danger? Had something been done to her? Richter can feel his stomach going into knots, anxiety pooling in his gut, and his heartbeat picking up with a wild gallop. He's turning then, vehemently, his voice rising over the quiet garden. "What the hell are you talking about? Do you know of Annette? Are you involved in all of this? Answer me, damn it!"

He can't find the other man through the roses and vines, can't seem to pick out that thick, wavy hair that stands out in the darkness like a glowing beacon. But he can hear his voice, a distant, deep whisper, an infuriatingly neutral response. "I believe you should be going, Belmont. T'would be best for you to see for yourself."

Richter is racing around the cobbled path then, frustration mixing with his worry and concocting a heated mix of the two emotions. His footsteps are heavy, carrying him through the drooping willows and thorny roses as he tries to find the other man. "No, you tell me now! Don't you leave yet, you devil!" His eyes flit every which way, searching endlessly, but the gardens are so large, so dense with plant life that he can't catch sight of the vampire anywhere. "Do you hear me?"

"I do." The levelled response echoes from some unknown location, and Richter turns about aimlessly, trying to find it. "I refuse to tell you the truth. But I will tell you my name."

"I don't need to know your damn name!" Richter cries out, his fingers threading into his hair in exasperation.

"To you humans, I am Alucard. To my family, I am Adrian. Choose whichever name you may. It matters not to me."

"I'll call you for what you are, vampire ." Richter grits out bitterly, coming to a standstill in the middle of the gardens.

He gets no response after that, the garden falling into complete silence once more. Still, Richter searches, tries to find some sort of hint as to where the vampire - Alucard , he supposes - disappeared to. But it's a dead, untraceable trail, and Richter inwardly curses himself for allowing the other to get away so easily. He glowers at the tudor roses, their ridiculous pink color now seemingly like a purposeful distraction.

The once peaceful garden loses its sanctuary-like feel, and Richter finds himself wanting to leave immediately.

* * *

As much as he tried to shove it to the back of his mind, Richter's thoughts now raced with worries about Annette.

Alucard's words rang ominously in his mind, and his reluctance to reveal anything more rubbed Richter the wrong way. Surely that must mean that he's hiding something, that he knows of Annette's fate and what has befallen her. And that other man, the robed one who tried to corrupt Maria with some sort of dark ritual… was there not a single being in this castle that wasn't obsessed with tainting the goodness of others? It was downright revolting to Richter.

Alucard… there was something different about him compared to the others. Even the vampires Richter had hunted in the past had not exhibited such finesse and speed. Did they possess it? Of course, their dark lineage was built upon such traits. Yet, Alucard easily outclassed any in Richter's recent memory. Even his beauty was greater, a reluctant observation that has Richter's face drawing into a scowl.

Surely he was not just another run-of-the-mill servant to Dracula. He was much too regal and gifted to be a simple vampire. Or perhaps he was just old. Richter is unsure.

Again, his thoughts drift back to Annette. Richter's hand raises and lays upon his chest, his heart sore and tender with fear on her behalf. Had they touched her? Had any of these monsters laid their repulsive hands on her? Did she scream and thrash, or was she even conscious to try and fight them off? Did the castle's lord himself taint her skin with his corroding touch?

Richter cannot bear the thought of finding her violated or hurt. He's not sure what he would do. Would he weep and break upon the sight? Throw himself upon her cold body with hands that couldn't help her? Would he lose himself in a fit of violent, thrashing rage, tearing his way through the castle until it killed him? The thought of leaving this cursed place without her in tow is impossible to fathom, an end that Richter refuses to accept. He'd rather die than continue on without her in his life.

If only he had stopped Alucard! He could have interrogated him for answers, for any sort of hint about her condition! Richter continually berates himself for the squandered chance, and if that wasn't enough, his ego is thoroughly wounded by his easy defeat at the vampire's hands. How foolish of him to use a dagger. He should have use the Vampire Killer like he planned to. Perhaps then Alucard wouldn't have taunted him with such cryptic hints.

It's dangerous to let his mind wander so far. He shakes his head and tries to rid himself of all the thoughts, instead focusing on the castle itself. If he's not careful, he may catch himself in another endless loop, passing by the same statue over and over again. He'd wasted a good hour doing just that earlier.

He follows the stairs, which seem to be the best choice. They all eventually have to lead somewhere, unlike all the dead ends and half-finished halls surrounding them. The denizens of the castle seem to be aware of their advantage in height, as Richter finds himself staring down piles of skulls, which spit great balls of flame in his direction. He can feel the heat lingering dangerously close to his clothing as he crouches underneath the fire, waiting for the opportunity to strike and dismantle them. More often than not, it sends the skulls tumbling down the stairs, and Richter struggles to dodge around them so they don't drag him down as well.

Hours pass, and the architecture of the castle begins to change somewhat. The once mud and dirt ruddled hallways transform into something more elegant, sporting long rugs with intricate patterns and grandiose windows framed by heavy, velvet curtains. Paintings begin to dot the walls, portraits of landscapes and faces that he doesn't recognize, and some even sporting macabre things, such as cruel and unusual acts of torture and death.

The scent of stale water bleeds into something much more musty, as if the halls Richter walks have been abandoned for an egregious amount of time. Which, he supposes isn't too far from the truth. But he's not certain how time affects this castle, or the things inside it. Do they decompose with age, or do they stay perfectly preserved, rising as they fell with no changes?

Strangely enough, the number of monsters begins to dwindle, until Richter is left walking the hallways in complete silence. It's almost eerie, how nothing seems to be jumping at him, of how the growls and hisses have faded away, leaving only a tense quiet behind. The torches are lit, which is odd to Richter, considering how abandoned the place looks. He'd think that the monsters would be scrambling to fill this particular part of the castle, considering how much better kept it was.

As he walks with his nervous thoughts, he finds himself beginning to feel the first waves of exhaustion. It must have been a full day since he'd entered the castle, and if the way the mosaic windows shone faintly told him anything, then it had to have been the following afternoon. Richter can hardly believe how fast time has went since his arrival, but then again, he supposes it was rushed by a great number of things. Apprehension and constant fighting seem to have lended to it.

His arm is beginning to sport a tender sort of soreness, worn after constant use of his whip. It's something he hasn't felt in years, since he'd first picked the weapon up and began practicing with it. But in his defense, he'd never fought so consecutively or long before. Usually, there was always a resting period in between hunts, but there was no time for such things in this castle. The monsters here were damn near relentless with their attacks.

His eyes feel heavy as well, tired from constantly being wide with anticipation. They must be bloodshot with how dry and sore they feel. He probably looks utterly haggard, walking forward like a ghost of a man desperately seeking his destination.

Richter is reluctant to let the thought pass through his mind, but if he continues as he is, he's only inviting trouble to his doorstep. To try and continue fighting through the fatigue and exhaustion would leave him open to attacks. His mind is weary, slowing with its ability to process any sort of fighting strategy. It would be a fool's gamble to try and push forward.

As he pulls himself through the hallway, he begins jiggling the handles on the doors, checking to see if they were unlocked. Many of the handles refused to move at all, seemingly rusted into immobility. Others are simply locked, apparently off-limits to… well, Richter isn't quite sure who. He must go through at least ten doors before he finds one that turns, though it does choose to swing open rather slowly.

But inside is exactly what Richter had been looking for, and he huffs out a breath of relief, his eyes coming to close as he mouths a silent thank you.

The room was obviously a bedroom of some sort. Nothing too fancy, but not the bare, common inn room either. It sported a sleigh bed, boasting thick covers that made Richter want to whine with want. There were other items, such as bedside tables, a chaise lounge, an armoire, and a vanity, but beyond that, there was nothing else of interest. The floor is smooth, yet weathered wood that has seemingly lost its shine over the years.

It's already almost as good as Richter's own bedroom, and for that, he's eternally grateful.

But he's also not a naive fool. To sleep unprotected would be a deathwish, even if this part of the castle seems abandoned. So he quickly sets about preparing potential wards; traps that will trigger once the door is opened, checking the furniture and closets for any unwanted visitors, pouring a thick enough line of salt around the room's entrance, and nailing a crucifix to the door's front

If anything tries to catch him off guard, he'll have at least a few seconds of time react accordingly.

Richter doesn't rid himself of his equipment, even as he climbs into the bed - and oh, what a lovely, lovely bed it is - too fearful to be caught without any of his weapons. The whip is even detached from his belt and gathered between his hands, ready to be wielded at the first sign of danger.

As he lies there, he allows his mind to relax, allows himself to fully recap the day as his muscles unwind and his body sinks into the comforter. He'd made good progress, he thinks, between clearing much of the lower castle, saving Maria, and… well, he could nix meeting Alucard from that list. Though the gardens were very nice, and he finds himself missing their beauty.

All those pink roses… he wonders idly what sort of obsession one must have with them to plant them everywhere . He's not even sure he spotted another flower in the garden, not even another color of rose. Is there some sort of symbolism behind them? Richter can't quite recall the language of flowers, but he thinks it must have something to do with love. At least, he's pretty sure that most roses are tied to that particular emotion anyway.

Which is strange. Very strange for this castle.

What had Alucard been doing wandering in that particular area? If Richter recalls correctly, he spoke as if his usual dwelling was higher up in the castle. To find him so low was strange, at least in hindsight. Had he… been watching Richter? Following him? The thought has a shiver running down his spine, and he shudders for a moment, trying to shove the idea away. Surely Alucard hadn't been spying on him… Richter would have noticed those eyes. They weren't hard to pick out in the darkness.

Or that hair… such ridiculous hair! It seemed more like an invitation to fight dirty. All it would take is one good yank to send the vampire tumbling over. In fact, the man had looked dressed to attend a ball rather than a fight. Richter swears he's seen the same type of clothing in paintings of royal families, namely princes.

The man was like the moon incarnate. It was the only thing Richter could compare him to. The pale skin, the bright hair, the gold of his eyes that shone like the stars in the sky, and the black tailored clothing that hugged him in complex layers… he was like a constellation, brightest on the darkest of nights.

What a deadly weapon, he muses. Perhaps, if he'd been a lady lost in the castle, surely he would have been dead from the start. Alucard seems the type to be able to charm his way into anything and take whatever he wants. His voice could command the most sinuous things of others, and Richter doubts they would be wont to say no. He wonders if Alucard is partially responsible for the women disappearing from the village, of if whether or not his plans for them involved seducing and draining the poor ladies…

He falls asleep with the memory of the vampire's voice, a lulling baritone that sees him off to his dreams.

He never notices the way the wall seems to meld behind the bed, nor how the voluptuous, half-dressed figure that emerges slowly from it grins down at him like a starved animal, her tongue poking out to run over dark lips. The deceptively soft hands that frame his face do not rouse him from his slumber, but rather, invite him deeper into it.


	3. In My Dreams

**AN:** Warning! There are elements of dub/non-con in this chapter, though there isn't anything explicit. Keep this in mind as you're reading!

* * *

 _"You hang anchors over my neck. I liked it at first, but the more you laughed, the crazier I came."_

Richter can typically tell when he's dreaming, is able to differentiate between the surreal atmosphere of his sleep and the waking world. He knows what he's seeing right now isn't real, but there's something undeniably strange about this dream, something more corporal about it than others.

For one, he is back in the village where Annette lives, which wouldn't be strange if not for the shockingly perfect amount of attention to detail. Even his dreams often leave snippets out, his mind unable to conjure a few things from memory alone. However, this one is pieced together with immaculate attention, and that's ultimately what sets his suspicions off.

He's standing before Annette's home, a common sight when he's not out hunting, but the streets around him are unnervingly empty and dead silent, with not even the croak of a crow or otherwise sounding in the air. A mist seems to cling to the ground, as if it were early morning, and the night before had been host to torrential rain. It's cold as well, much colder than it should be for the current season, and even through his clothing, Richter can feel icy dew clinging to his skin.

Annette's house is the only lit one in the street, the only building that even seems like it's being lived in. The rest look like static props in the background, as if Richter were observing a play, and only Annette's home was center stage. He knows that whatever this dream is, it's beckoning him to go inside, to follow the crumbs carefully laid out for him. So Richter tries to do the opposite, to defy his own mind and see exactly what's going on. He turns to walk away, does a complete one-eighty, but when his eyes meet the opposite side of the street, Annette's home has suddenly shifted with him as well, and her front door once more stands in front of him, waiting to be opened. Richter, utterly confused, peers over his shoulder to see if he's hallucinating, but all he sees is an empty, abandoned home and more static imagery.

Okay… definitely different from his usual dreams.

He decides to play along, to see where this strange dream will take him. He reaches out for the handle to her door, twists it until the latch is coming free, and the door is creaking open. Richter doesn't even need to push it, as the door seems to have a mind of it's own, silently inviting him inside. He spares one last cautionary glance around him, before he's stepping through it, finding himself in the foyer of Annette's home. It's just as he remembers it, chandelier, stairs and all. Except it feels as though something has sucked all of the color out of it, leaving only dull greys and monochromes behind. It feels damn near lifeless.

He hears a slam behind him, and finds that the door has shut itself, and the windows that once allowed the lamplight to spill outside are now covered in curtains. The inside darkens somewhat, cut off from the light of day, and Richter feels the first actual beginnings of nervousness find him. The sound of a grandfather clock ticking away slowly is the only thing that keeps him company, but even that seems much louder than it should be. He notices that it ticks n time with the beating of his heart.

"Is… anyone home? Annette, are you here?" He calls out, reluctantly. His own voice sounds much too loud in his ears, deafening in the unnatural silence of the house.

"Richter…"

There's the sound of a soft voice coming from nearby, a lazy chord of his name that seems to match the hazy dreamscape he's in. Richter averts his eyes to where he heard it, and catches sight of… Annette. She's turning past the corner where the foyer leads into a sitting room, dressed in one of her best gowns, a long, white thing full of sheer lace and translucent material. Immediately, Richter is taken off guard, because this is not something Annette normally wears, especially not for the time of day it is. Even then, she often expresses mild embarrassment at donning such a revealing thing, and usually only does in the privacy of her bedroom.

Yet, here she is, standing there provocatively, one hand placed upon the bannister of the stairs, her lips curled into a coy smile. The expression seems vastly wrong on her face, unbecoming of the woman that Richter knows so well. One of her hands draws up to her chest, tugs at the lace that ties the gown together, and fingers at the bow there teasingly.

"Annette… what are you going? Where is everyone?" Richter tries for genuity, hoping that it will perhaps shatter the unreal illusion of the situation.

"What do you mean, Richter?" Her voice is quiet, a breathy whisper that sounds far from innocent.

"The village is completely empty. As are the houses! Have you not noticed?"

"I 'm here. Isn't that all that matters?"

Richter is taken aback by the response, and he flounders for the appropriate words. This is undeniably weird, too surreal for him to comprehend, and the inherent wrongness he feels at the situation is beginning to feel suffocating. "Why are dressed like that? It's midday."

"Don't you like it?" Annette allows her hand to slide off the post, and takes a few, slow steps forward, the gown trailing behind her quietly. There's something so very, very off about the way she moves, too lascivious and timed. It's not at how how Annette would carry herself, but it still draws Richter's eye deplorably. He can't stop the way his eyes trail from her face down to the soft swell of her chest, nor how the lace seems to be growing looser and looser the more her finger tugs at it.

One good pull would have the front of the gown coming apart.

"I do, but…" What can he say in this situation? Richter's mind is quickly dissolving into a mushy mess, his thoughts melting into something incomprehensible the longer he looks at Annette. It's as if this woman has put him under a spell, and he finds his mouth growing dryer and his stomach going into knots that aren't entirely innocent in nature.

"But what? Don't you find me pretty, Richter?" She is beautiful, he wants to reiterate it to her over and over. But deep in his heart, Richter recognizes how unnatural this dream is, knows that his mind wouldn't conjure this image of Annette. He is already in love with her enough to not warrant this kind of imagery, let alone paint her in such sultry, lustful tones.

"You are…" He breathes quietly, his heartbeat quickening ever so slightly. The ticking of the clock seems to fall in sync with the thumping of his chest, matching the tempo he's playing. Richter can feel the want in his hands, the desire to reach out and touch her, to lay his palms upon her skin and feel every inch of the body he's only had a few opportunities to truly appreciate.

Annette draws closer still, her head canting in a coquettish way, seemingly knowing of what his thoughts consisted of. Her hair is undone, falling over his shoulders in pale, blonde streaks, and one hand comes to push a wave over her shoulder, exposing the sharp outline of her collarbone. "Then prove that you love me. That you want me. I'm yours, Richter. I'm yours to do with anything your heart desires."

Annette is quick to close the distance between them, her hands coming to wrap about his neck, her chest pressing deftly against Richter's, and the swell of her breasts is easily tangible through the thin gown. Richter finds himself gasping at the touch, his hands balling into fists for but a moment, until Annette is fixing him with a half-lidded stare, and he finds himself returning the gesture, his arms coming to wrap about her narrow waist.

Despite the proximity, Richter finds that she is not warm, not at all. Instead, her skin seems almost room temperature, chilly against his own in a peculiar way. Even as Annette's hands snake through his hair and drag across his scalp, he can't help but shiver at the difference in temperature. Up close, he can better see the irises of her eyes, and there he notices that something is missing in them, something throwing him off in a way that has him freezing momentarily, even has her touches coax him to return the favor.

Her eyes hold no life in them, but instead look like the glassy ones of a porcelain doll. Richter finds himself narrowing his eyes at them, his lips parting momentarily as his mind sets to racing with speculation. Annette does not seem bothered by the change in his demeanor, still pets at him heavily and dreamily, her fingers nimble in the way that they stroke along his jawline and touch at his lips.

"Kiss me, Richter. It's been so long since we've been able to." She murmurs the command with a press of her weight on her toes, lifting herself briefly so that she can meet his lips. Richter does not move, allows Annette to press her mouth against his, and it's cold, cold, cold, not at all like her lips at all. Her fingers curl into his face, demanding the act to be reciprocated, and he can feel the edge of too-sharp nails denting his skin.

He's shoving her away immediately, stumbling back himself at the abrupt motion, and his teeth are baring in a grimace that has his face turning dark with accusation. "You aren't Annette. You're nothing like her. Who the hell are you, and what have you done to me? What is this place?"

Annette - or the thing parading as her - is crouched low, their footing having been sent off kilter by the shove. She peers at him from beneath the curtain of her blonde hair, her eyes suddenly hard as stone and piercing in the way they gaze at him. Richter can feel it going right through him. "I am Annette. Richter, have you lost your mind? Do you not recognize your own fiancée?"

"You wear her face, but you impersonate her poorly. Do you put this act on for all of your stolen identities?" Out of habit, his hand goes to reach for his whip, but Richter only feels air and the flat padding of his belt. He glances down briefly, and notes that all of his weapons seem to be missing, having vanished magically in this strange dreamscape.

"Oh? Am I not convincing enough for you?" The thing posing as Annette stands to its full height, and the way they hold their body now exudes an air of regality and pointed contempt for him. Their eyes bore into his own, as if observing a wild animal and disapproving of its actions. They take a step forward, their sinuous gait abandoned now in favor of waltzing along with an air of grace. Though, there still exists the over exaggerated sway of their hips. "Is Annette not good enough for you?"

"Shut your mouth, and shed that form. I tire of you wearing Annette's face like a crude mask." Despite having no weapons, Richter stands ready to fight, his stance shifting defensively.

"So you don't like this look? Should I change it? Hm?" Though the change is slight, he can hear a slight downwards pitch to its voice, turning into more of a deep, feminine drawl than Annette's own soft timbre. There's a vibrating quality to it, a slight echo within itself that Richter knows is inhuman. "Would you… like this better?"

There's a slight shimmering to Annette's form, a warping of light and shadow and the illusion of white smoke engulfing her body. Richter takes a cautionary step back, bracing for a sudden spell or lunge, but neither end up coming. Instead, the smoke and shimmering fades to reveal a new illusion, and at a glance, this one is as equally pieced together as the last. But that's not what has Richter going stock still, his eyes widening ever so slightly at this new visage.

Blonde hair has faded to a much longer, almost pale white shade. Annette's gown is gone now, replaced by a heavy black cloak and form-fitting noble's clothing, and the fairness of of the skin that covered the last form is now somehow paler. Green eyes are gone in favor of glinting, golden ones, and the difference in color is like comparing copper to diamonds.

Richter is once again rendered speechless, and there's not even a tangible train of thoughts to place to this unexpected change. He does allow his eyes to trail downwards, to look for the outline or glinting metal of the sword that was once placed at his throat. He's relieved to see that this creature has not replicated the weapon. But still… why this particular identity?

The creature grabs hold of the cloak and holds its arm out, studying with apparent delight the new form it's taken on. Pale lips spread into a smile that seems off on its borrowed face, its eyes deceptively soft and half-lidded. "I've always enjoyed this particular form. Oh, the things I love to do with it." The voice is perfectly mimicked, a deep and smooth baritone that has Richter's mind conjuring up images of the pink-laden garden. "A shame that I've never quite been able to wrangle this one. He's a stubborn prince."

"You're trying to taunt me with him of all people?" Richter retorts disbelievingly. "This must be a bad joke."

"And why is that?" It regards him with its borrowed eyes, and even though they lack the proper amount of emotion in them to make them appear real, they are still somehow just as beautiful as Richter remembers them. "Come now, hunter. It doesn't take a fool to see how attractive this form is. It's utterly desirable, and no woman - or man , for that matter - would glance upon it and decide otherwise. I know the thoughts that lurk in the back of your mind, Richter. Why don't you indulge me with them? This could be your only chance. It could be our dirty little secret." One gloved hand reaches forward and curls its finger inwards, invitingly.

It's a motion saturated with corrupt promises, and Richter finds himself shaking his head at the imposter, his face drawn into an expression of incredulity. "If you think I'd lay with that monster, then you're as dense as your damn illusions. I'd rather rot in hell than submit myself to that ."

"Would you, really?" Its smile never wavers, seems to curl into something even more sinister.

It's like déjà vu. One moment, Richter is staring down the beckoning form of Alucard, and the next, his arm is being twisted behind his back, and a cold, solid form is being aligned against him, with a voice and equally frigid breath tickling at the back of his ear. Richter huffs out a frustrated cry, and moves to yank his arm away, but it's pressed firmly against his spine, the angle straining his joints painfully. His body jerks forward, tries to throw the creature off balance, but not even that is allowed. So he grits his teeth and hisses out a colorful string of curses, slinging every filthy word he can at the monster that holds him at bay.

"My, what a mouth on you. Filthy, filthy, filthy. Hard to believe that God would imbue a man such as yourself with holy powers. You hardly seem a fitting choice." The words sounds so strange coming out of its mouth, sickly sweet and ill fitting for the princely man he met in the gardens earlier. "I know of a couple good uses for it, though. A filthy mouth for a filthy task. What say you, Richter? Shall I put you on your knees?"

"Put a dagger through me first, and I'll think about it."

"You tempt me with a good deal, boy. Don't forget that this man appreciates blood as much as he does violence."

"I've known him for all of five minutes, and even I can tell that you do a horrible impression of him." Richter hopes to stall the conversation for as long as possible, so he can at least formulate a plan to get out of this.

"You don't really know him, though, do you? That leaves a lot to the imagination, hunter. Let your mind roam wild. I won't hold it against you. Or," There's the press of hips against his own, and Richter damn near jumps at the invasive touch. "I will, actually."

"I will take your head off the moment the opportunity presents itself!"

"With what? Your bare hands? Please, spare me the theatrics. You're in my realm, dearest." There's a sharp twist to his wrist, and Richter has to bite back the cry that threatens to leave his throat. "Perhaps I'll string you up instead, let you hang helplessly while I show you a thing or two. That way, you can just sit back and enjoy the show."

"Are you trying to make me sick?"

He receives no response, and that only serves to make Richter's skin crawl with apprehension. Instead, he feels a hand roaming, gloved fingers trailing up his back and tickling at his neck, spindly over his skin and fleeting with their grazing. It raises goosebumps on Richter's flesh, makes his hair stand on end. Fingers tug at the knot that ties the white kerchief around it, and it falls away, leaving his flesh exposed. They cup against the side of his neck, force his head to cant enough to bare the full length of it, and the cold set of lips that he feels upon his skin has him squirming desperately against his captor.

Richter's voice is naught but a growl in his throat, his expression absolutely livid, "I promise you won't live past me. I swear on my life, I'll see you dead before you ever touch another soul again!"

"Of course," It's mouthed against his pulse point, and the slightly damp breath he feels against his skin nearly wrings a shudder out of him. "Posture if you must. I know it must soothe that fragile ego of yours." Richter can feel a tongue lapping up a wet line, calling a chill to his flesh as it leave a damp trail behind. The lips meet his neck once more, and there's a soft suction to the kisses that travel across his skin, and they gradually grow harder with each pass of the creature's mouth.

A harrowing noise escapes him, a sound full of repulsion and objection. Richter tries to arch a shoulder, tries to pull away or force the mouth off of his neck, but he finds that it chases him with every movement, with every jerk that tries to throw them off. When his struggling begins to become troublesome, he feels another sharp twist of his wrist, this one threatening to snap his bones with how rough it is.

The only mercy he gets is when they draw away once more, no doubt to taunt him even further, "Shall I make this more authentic for you? I never meant for your immersion to be shattered, but you lot are becoming so damned attentive these days."

"If you're looking for realism, then hand me my whip, and I'll show you exactly what would happen in this situation."

"Oh, how lewd. Please, don't give me any more ideas, Richter. I'm already brimming with them." There's the soft vibration of laughter against his neck. "But where was I? Ah, yes… That ."

Richter doesn't know what that is, but he has the sneaking suspicion that if he doesn't wiggle out of this situation, he may not live to regret it. He tries to think of something, anything that will spring him free from this monster's grasp. He could try tossing them over his shoulder, but the way his arm is twisted behind his back is forcing him to arch along with it, throwing his own balance off. He doubts he could hit a low blow, though he's not sure how much damage it would do to this creature, nor if its anatomy would even allow it.

It becomes much, much harder to formulate a coherent thought once he feels the too long press of teeth against his neck. Richter feels his blood run momentarily cold, a strong chill icing his spine as his eyes go wide, and strain to peer at the creature from their corners. This… can't possibly be happening. It was one thing to impersonate someone, but this was taking it too far. Richter can feel his heart thudding heavily against his chest, a violent rhythm against his ribs as it seemingly tries to sink into his stomach.

They press harder, almost teasingly, dent his skin with the beginnings of pain, and a broken, short noise rips from his mouth at the pressure. His muscles have gone tight, seemingly paralyzed with the realization of what was about to happen. There are words spilling from his mouth, short, rigid pleas, "Don't… don't you dare…!"

All he receives is an amused hum - in that damned, replicated deep voice! - and the continuing press of perfectly mirrored fangs into his skin. Richter can feel them slipping in, slowly, almost sadistically so, drawing the first small wells of blood. His voice strains in his throat, a rough drag of protest that has his vocal chords going sore.

He has never suffered a vampire's bite before, but it is much of what he thought it would be. Sharp, stinging, unforgiving pain. An invasive, skin-crawling feeling at the knowledge of having teeth digging into his neck. It stirs the beginnings of nausea in his stomach, and there's a suffering groan escaping him, a noise full of fatigue and exasperation. Richter swears that the room seems to spin momentarily, his eyes blinking through bleary vision, trying to refocus to the best of their ability. He almost doesn't register the greedy sucking at his neck, nor how their lips and tongue seem to be guiding his blood right along. Alongside the pain, it's an awful, sensual feeling, one that lends to the unease building in his stomach, though doesn't fail to make his hair stand on end and his breath come in quick, haggard gasps.

It seems to end shocking fast, because the sharp points are being yanked out, and there's the sound of lips smacking against each other, and an inquisitive noise sounding by his ear. "I can't say that I share the same appreciation for human blood. Not quite to my tastes, you see. You'll have to forgive me for not being able to replicate it perfectly. I could never figure out how to nail the… more sensual aspects of it. Ironic, isn't it?"

Richter's breath is unsteady, quickened by the adrenaline that sings in his veins. The pain at his neck is sobering somewhat, and the rush of anger only seems to fuel his desire to escape. He hears laughter once more, and the sound draws back, away from the side of his neck and more towards the nape. Richter recognizes the chance for what it is.

He's slamming his head back then, catching the creature off guard and smashing its borrowed nose hard. There's the brief sound of something cracking, and though the pain radiates throughout Richter's skull, he knows that it isn't his own bones. The hand holding his wrist falls away, and Richter yanks it back to himself and swings his arm hard, smashing his elbow into the side of their face.

It stumbles back, and gloved hands come to cover that pale face, where small slithers of darkened blood begin to peek through the fingers. Richter can feel clarity rushing back to him, his thoughts slowing before reorganizing themselves, his mind picking through his options quickly.

This is a dream. The creature mentioned him being in their realm, which suggests that the dream isn't his own, but rather something they created themselves. Family bestiary... Think, think, think . What manner of creature is capable of doing this? Borrowed identities, overly sensual, provocative displays...

He wants to smack himself for his stupidity. A Succubus, of course! How foolish of him to have not recognized the signs before!

And if this is a dream… then there must be some manner of it being reflected in the waking world. The Succubus must have gotten into his room somehow, despite his warding. He curses at himself inwardly, regretting not checking the room more thoroughly. He should have knocked at the walls, should have tested them for illusions. The Succubus is probably curled up next to him in bed, and Richter has to suppress a violent shudder at the imagery in his head.

However, if that's the truth… then wouldn't his weapons still be on his person? Unless she thought to remove them beforehand, Richter's gear should be right where he left it. She couldn't touch his whip if she wanted to, anyway. The consecration on it would chase her away immediately.

He doesn't have much more time to think. The Succubus, despite still wearing Alucard's form, growls at him in her deep, feminine voice, "Curse you, Belmont! I was going to play nice with you, but now I think I'll just flay you alive! I hope you aren't too attached to your skin!"

"Try me," He offers threateningly, and his hand strays down to where he knows a belt is strapped to his thigh, though it appears to not be there. Richter pays the illusion no mind, knows that in the waking world, that is where a series of throwing knives rests on his person.

The Succubus screeches, an awful, grating noise compared to her typical liquid drawl. Richter's hand grips at thin air, wraps around nothing, but still something all the same. He can feel something solid between his fingers, smooth and sharp on its edges. He knows better than to expect a careless lunge, is already turning with the incorporeal knife drawn from its slot, and turns just in time to impale it deep into the Succubus's chest, shoving with both hands at the handle so that it sinks past the organ he'd been aiming for.

Alucard's borrowed face goes lax, gold eyes blown wide, bloodied mouth opened in a silent cry. There's a broken breath whizzing past the pale lips, before the illusion is melting away, the smoke sizzling from the body in wispy curls. The Succubus's real form bleeds through, giving way to gratuitous skin and thin, sparse clothing. Richter's eyes are drawn to the large swell of her chest, where the knife pierces through one breast and straight into her heart. Blood trails quickly down her stomach, dripping onto the wooden floorboards in generous amounts.

"H-How…" She croaks weakly, one hand raising to try and pull the knife from her body. But it never meets the weapon, instead lingering by while trembling violently.

Richter's vision goes black for a moment, the world seeming to dim around him as if night were falling. But he's opening his eyes after a moment, and the familiar sight of the bedroom is greeting his eyes. He's turned on his side, facing the Succubus who lies next to him, one arm draped over his hip while the other falls to her side, limp. Her eyes - a terrible, glowing violet - seem to grow dim, before she's choking out a last, sudden breath.

Richter yanks the knife out of her chest, and tosses it aside, all the while gathering himself on the far edge of the bed. His hand draws to his neck, where he can still feel phantom pain biting at his skin, but upon meeting it, he feels no blood or puncture wounds there. He breathes out a grateful sigh, the tension seeming to rush out of his body with the sound.

"Conniving bitch!" He shoves at her body, sends it tumbling off the opposite side of the bed with a dull thump. Richter eyes the spot where she'd been lying with open contempt, his skin still crawling from her corrupting touch.

He knows not of how long he slept, but Richter can't seem to feel tired, not after that entire ordeal. In fact, sleep is probably at the bottom of the list of things he wants to do right now. He pushes away from the bed, grabbing his whip from its discarded spot by his pillow, and tucks it back into his belt as he quickly leaves the room with not even a glance to spare behind himself.

That'll be the last time he decides to shack up inside the castle's various quarters. He'll take his chances with the other monsters lurking its corridors.

* * *

"I fear that if I don't act quickly, the other monsters of this castle will claim you as their own toy. You're quite the magnet for trouble, Belmont."

The voice that echoes off the damp walls is immediately recognizable, its sly, brittle tone belonging to the robed man that had attempted to perform some sort of twisted ritual on Maria. Richter can seemingly hear it from all directions, the sound reverberating inside his head in an invasive manner.

He momentarily covers his ears with his hands, his eyes narrowing in annoyance as he glances around himself warily, "Have you come to chat or fight? I've never been a fan of cowards, you see, and I owe you for disappearing on me earlier."

He hears naught but the deep croaking of laughter around him, the echoes travelling far in the rotted hallways, "Be patient, dear boy. I've not had any luck finding the girl, but you… you like to draw attention to yourself. That's rather convenient for me."

"We'll see how convenient it is once we finally meet again. I have a feeling you'll be getting the short end of the deal."

"Such unbridled confidence!" The voice laughs again, thoroughly tickled. "I wonder, does it come from naivety, or are you simply so convinced of your strength?"

"My family has constantly succeeded in sending both this castle and your master straight back to hell. How about you answer that yourself?"

"Your ancestors, yes." The voice seems to move about him, dancing along the walls and shifting in his ears. It throws off Richter's sense of equilibrium. "But what makes you think you're any better? Does your family's strength magically manifest itself inside of you, or do you honestly believe that you're anything like them at all?"

That grates annoying at Richter's nerves. His mouth twists into a grimace, his teeth snapping together for a moment before he's turning about, following the voice that dances around him. "I grow tired of your blathering! Come out and fight me already!"

"You refuse to answer me. How interesting. Then, perhaps there is some truth to my accusations."

"That's all you know how to do, huh? Spew shit from your disgusting mouth!" Richter can't keep down the wavering of his tone, of how it shakes with barely restrained anger. Who is this man, this creature, to assume anything about his family!? He has proven time and time again that he is plenty worthy of his family's name, has done nothing but hunt the night to preserve their legacy. Richter can't even conjure an accurate number of the lives he's saved in his pitifully young life. To have this thing - this unduly servant of the cretin himself - try to slander his naming is absolutely maddening!

"Then prove me wrong, Belmont. Silence me with the 'truth'. The women of the village still remain within the castle. If it had been any other member of your family, I'm certain they would have been rescued by now." The tone of the voice grows coy, purposely injecting his words with acid, so that they may better eat at Richter.

It works to a great degree. Richter feels himself burn with indignation at those words, feels a sharp line of shame course through him at the truth of it all. He tries to tell himself that it wasn't his fault that he'd not yet found his way to Annette or the other women, that Maria had taken the duty upon herself to find them. But to leave that task to a child… it was a bit irresponsible of him… He really should have forced Maria out, should have been looking for clues to the other womens' whereabouts himself instead of wandering aimlessly, entertaining conversations with strange vampires and landing himself in awful dreams with a Succubus.

He never recalls anything like this happening in the past excursions by his ancestors, had never read of such embarrassing hiccups in their journals, and the comparison has a heavy stone settling in his stomach, and him swallowing past a suddenly thick throat. His anger sizzles out in favor of allowing chagrin to take its place. Richter cannot find the words to rebuke the other man's own, and instead dwells on painful silence.

"Ah, what is the matter, Belmont? Has the truth suddenly found you? Naive, little hunter," Another peal of laughter. Richter wants to close his eyes and cover his ears. It feels as though the volume of it is rising steadily, piercing past his ear drums like a knife. "You're but a desperate man living in the shadow of his family's legacy. Trying to fill his forefathers shoes, but finding that they're much, much too big. Rest assured, Belmont, that you may be but a shell of a man now, but my master and I will make something great of you. We'll find use for that ridiculous bravado yet."

"You've said your piece," Richter grinds out on a desperate whisper. "Now take your leave already."

"And why should I allow you the time to grieve? It's about time that someone pointed out your obvious lack of conviction. Why, I'm absolutely thrilled that it could be me. It'll make rebuilding you be all the much better!"

"Enough of your words! Leave me be, already!" Richter finally allows his hands to thread into his hair, his fingers tugging desperately at his own strands. It's a nervous quirk he's never been able to rid himself of.

"No," The voice grows colder, crueler. "I never lied when I said I would have you, Belmont. And you, as the worthless waste of flesh you are, should quickly come to realize your place at my feet. Grovel in your newfound despair, hunter. I'll gladly drink your tears."

Richter feels as though he could collapse to his knees, the voice once more beginning to permeate his mind. It's so loud, louder than it ever has been before, and the cruelty laced within its tone eats away at his will like an awful disease. He can hear behind it the whispers of a dozen jabbing insults, of half-truths and cleverly constructed criticisms of his recent failures. There's one of Annette, a stinging warning that tells of her gruesome demise, and it seems to latch onto the wave of grief that sends his heart thumping away painfully.

Richter only hears of the most awful, repugnant tortures then, of Annette being made an unwilling bride to the castle's Count, and of the ways his cold hands would roam over her body, claiming the spots that Richter had once thought for himself, and chasing away any of her ties to the man in question. He feels the first dregs of heartbreak finding him, and his eyes burn with a fresh spring of unshed tears. He swears he can almost hear Annette's voice in his head, a desperate string of fearful cries and choked sobs that echo weakly with the taunting voice. His name is a broken record, uttered over and over again, a torturous cacophony that he desperately wishes he could block out. Her voice is shrill, like the grating of nails on steel, an awful cry that goes for too long before completely shattering.

Annette… Annette… Dear God , what if he does find her dead, or maimed, or raped? Richter couldn't possibly live with himself, can't see a future where he could walk away from this castle without losing a piece of himself. The possibility alone is enough to make him grow suddenly weary, seemingly drained of energy to the point of feeling his muscles giving away.

The cold stone of the floor meets his knees then, and a noise full of sorrow is sounded against his will. Richter is just about to plea once more for the voice to leave, to let his mind rest after all the chaos that seemed to have taken place inside of it recently. He never quite gets the words out.

Someone else is beating him to it.

"I'm growing tired of hearing your voice as well, Shaft. Why don't you scamper off back to my father's side? It's much better when one doesn't have to hear your prattling."

Richter glances up from beneath the fringe of his bangs, his eyes still damp and quickly becoming red ringed. The voice in front of him is easily recognizable, if not from their first meeting, then certainly that terrible dream. Of course, the man that stands before him is hard to forget as well, sporting those pale and ghastly beautiful features that no human could pull off.

"Alucard…" He murmurs the other's given name, his voice quiet in the chaos of the whispers still plaguing his mind.

"I should be asking that of you," The ancient voice - Shaft, if Richter heard correctly - retorts. "What sort of child refuses to serve their parent? A bratty, rebellious one, of course. I'm disappointed in you, young master, and so is your father."

"You speak as if you're family. You haven't the right to criticize my choices. If you value your secrecy, you'll leave the Belmont alone. Else, I may just take it upon myself to pay you a visit instead." Richter can see Alucard's boots approaching in his vision, his eyesight swimming momentarily with a sudden onset of dizziness. The ringing in his ears still remains.

"Naughty child! Urgh!" Shaft growls the words bitterly, his voice a layered echo along with the steadily quietening ones inside Richter's head. "Fine. Have your fun with the Belmont for now. I'll be back for him shortly regardless."

"Your tenacity has always been bothersome." Alucard remarks dryly, and Richter can hear his mind growing quieter, the taunting and screams slowly dying away until they're nothing but a soft echo in the distance. Richter releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, his shoulders sagging with the exodus as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. A hand come to push back into his hair, the strands made briefly damp by the sweat that beaded at his hairline. Alucard still approaches, his footsteps a clacking echo inside the rotted corridor. "I'm afraid to say that you've earned the ire of a madman."

"Tell me about it…" Richter finds himself muttering, seemingly out of breath. His eyes drag up from Alucard's boots, trailing over gold accents and silver clasps before finding the vampire's face. As usual, it's frustratingly indifferent, impossible to read any sort of emotion on it. The question is suddenly nagging him, a sudden realization striking Richter as he finds himself fumbling for words, his features morphing into an expression of shock, "Wait… that man, Shaft… he said something about you! The son of his master… No, that can't possibly be right. My family would have heard of you by now!"

At that, Alucard allows the ghost of a smirk to grace his lips, "I am a well kept secret, Belmont."

"But… how?" Richter shakes his head in disbelief. "My family has raided this castle for centuries. Centuries . And none of them have ever spoken about Dracula having a damned son ."

"I like to keep my privacy, hunter. What sort of fool would I be to spoil my existence to the Belmonts? I value my survival, and you humans have proven to me time and time again that you cannot be trusted." Alucard peers at him down the bridge of his narrow nose, his eyes a molten gold in the dimly lit corridor.

There's a thoughtful pause from Richter at that, and then, reluctantly, "So why now? Why show yourself to me in those gardens and spoil your secret, if you're so intent on keeping it? You realize that there's nothing stopping me from exposing you now?"

"Oh, there is," It's at about that time that Richter regrets not pulling himself to his feet. Alucard towers over him, his gloved hand settling on the beautiful, engraved silver of his sword, hidden inside the billowing gold of his cape. "You put yourself in exceedingly vulnerable positions. I'm beginning to wonder if you have a penchant for death, or if you're simply an unaware fool."

Richter spares him a cautious glance, "Have you been following me?"

"Perhaps. I do like to see what you're doing, from time to time. Which, by the way," It's here that his small smirk becomes almost mocking. "Very interesting show with the Succubus. I do owe you for killing her. I was beginning to grow tired of her constant advances."

Immediately, there is heat rushing to Richter's face, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to bury his head in his hands and hide his shame. He has absolutely no idea how Alucard could have seen him inside that room, not with all the holy symbols and wards, but then again, that didn't stop a fucking Succubus from getting inside.

Instead, he tugs at the kerchief around his neck, feeling suddenly strangled under it and unable to meet Alucard's gaze. "You should learn to give others privacy. For someone who preaches about valuing his own, you sure are invasive of everyone else's."

"Only you, Belmont. I care not for the other creatures of this castle." The hand settled upon the silver sword is leaving then, and extending downwards, offering itself to Richter. He eyes it with distrust, his own hands balled into fists where they rest at his sides. "Don't be afraid. I won't bite." There's a momentary pause. "Not yet, at least."

"That's reassuring." Despite himself and his worries, Richter allows Alucard to grasp his hand, and he's being pulled up in one, easy yank, his weight seemingly nothing to the vampire. Richter notices that even through his gloves, the vampire offers no heat, but instead a grave chill that permeates his skin like a fog. He's pulling away his hand quickly, the other coming to rub at it protectively. Alucard allows his own to fall slowly back to his side. "You didn't answer my question. Why show yourself to me of all people?"

Alucard chooses to take his time with his response, annoyingly aloof in the way that he rolls the question around silently. "I grew bored."

Richter levels him with a critical stare at that, a brow raising in question, "You were… bored? So you just…" He finds himself rolling his eyes and offering a sigh at that, his shoulders shrugging briefly, "Sure, of course. I shouldn't have expected some grand reason anyway." Alucard seems aware of the painfully inadequate answer, and only offers Richter a brief upturn of his lips. "So what are your plans now, vampire? Is this all just an elaborate plan to kill me in the end, or are you really not taking any sides here? For all I know, you and Shaft could be in league with each other."

"Please. Have a bit more faith in me than that. If I were to align myself with anyone, it would certainly not be him."

"Answer the question."

"No."

There's a tense silence passing between them then, with Richter offering a heated glare in Alucard's direction. Alucard's face slips back into its typical mask, his face offering no clues to any underlying allegiances. Richter can't help but feel suspicion at his unwillingness to answer. His hand, perhaps out of instinct, strays to his whip and settles over the handle. Alucard's eyes follow the movement.

"Do you wish to fight me, Belmont? Are you so unwilling to leave me be?"

"You won't choose a side, so I'm choosing the safe option and assuming the worst. Until you prove me otherwise, you and I are enemies, and even then, you're a vampire at that. Nothing good will ever come from you." Richter catches a slight hardening of Alucard's eyes, a brief flicker of anger passing through them.

It doesn't seem to affect Alucard's next words, "What if I were to give you a hint?"

Richter is hesitating at that. "A hint?"

Alucard nods slowly, a brief dip of his head. "You've been wandering aimlessly in my father's castle for hours now. If you had any inclination of where to go, then surely you wouldn't be here."

"I've been looking for clues."

"You're looking in the wrong place."

Richter is huffing out an irritated breath at that. "Fine. Then tell me, oh great son of Dracula, where I should be going. If I'm lucky, you won't be sending me to a trap."

"No, but an astute accusation on your part. I suppose your unwillingness to trust anyone does serve you some good now and then. It's been painfully annoying, thus far, however." Alucard turns briefly, his eyes flitting up to the molded roof and seeing far past it to glance at something else. Richter can't follow where. "There is a clock tower, high up in the castle. I hear they're keeping a girl there. Blonde hair, green eyes. Do you recognize her?"

"Annette." Richter finds himself murmuring her name.

Alucard's back is turned to him, only the long curtain of gently waving, pale hair offering a contrast to his cape. "I've heard screams coming from there, and the scent of fresh blood is thick. If I were you, I would hurry, Belmont." He promises he can almost hear an air of mild amusement in Alucard's tone.

Richter doesn't find it humorous at all, instead being spurred on by sudden anger. His hand shoots out, clasp Alucard by his shoulder and forces him to turn and face him. Alucard eyes Richter's hand with slight distaste, his own coming up to gently remove it from his shoulder by wrapping around his wrist. Richter is undeterred, his blood running hot with a mixture of apprehension and fury. "You know where she's at, and you know what they're doing to her! You will take me to Annette, or I swear upon my ancestors, your head will be on the ground in a matter of seconds!"

"I give you pertinent information, and you threaten me." Alucard has yet to release Richter's wrist, his cool fingers still wrapped about the fragile circumference of it. Richter finds himself being yanked forward, his footing going flimsy, and he all but crashes into Alucard's chest, his nose catching the brunt of it. Alucard abandons his wrist in favor of snagging Richter's chin and yanking his face up, and he can feel the edge of hidden, sharp nails biting into his flesh. The action stuns him so hard that he can't find it in himself to react accordingly, instead gawking at the attractive, snow pale face lingering uncomfortably close to his own. Alucard's own expression is irritated, his luminescent gold eyes narrowed at him accusingly. "If you continue taking advantage of my amiaty, perhaps I'll stop offering you words and begin offering you my sword instead. Or would that not be enough for you, Belmont? Shall I show you my teeth and give you a death fitting for your family?"

"Release me." Richter finds himself gritting out bravely, his fists shoving into Alucard's chest, his knuckles digging into his clothing. When it's apparent that the other has no intentions of doing so, Richter's hand is finding his whip, preparing to unleash hell upon the vampire touching him.

He's never quite able to do anything with it. Alucard's other hand follows his own, and snags it by the wrist, where he then pins it to Richter's side. There's no real pressure in the move, but he's strong enough to prevent Richter from slipping his wrist free, and the displeasure Richter feels eats away at him slowly. He tries to turn his head, to avert his eyes, but Alucard's fingers dig into his skin, and he can feel the first pinpricks of pain spreading over it. "Answer me . Which will it be, Belmont?"

"I'd rather be cut into a thousand pieces before letting a vampire make a meal of me."

"Would you?" Alucard murmurs quietly, his voice dipping a bit. "You'd rather subject yourself to the worst pain imaginable, then take an easy path out? Your logic baffles me."

"You haven't a clue what dignity or honor means, so I'm not surprised that you don't understand. Quit posturing and playing around, and do something if you're going to!" Richter yanks at his arm, and succeeds in moving it briefly from his side before Alucard is shoving it back to where it once was.

It's here that Alucard lingers closer, and Richter feels a sudden wave of ice flow through his veins, stunning him momentarily as the vampire all but allows himself to draw past the hunter's face, his lips lingering by his ear instead. The close approximation of both teeth and pulse point has Richter's mouth going dry, and nervousness forming a lump in the back of his throat. His eyes flit around himself wildly, unable to see what is happening, but he can feel the soft press of breath against his neck, and it's too familiar, too reminiscent of his nightmare. He wonders if Alucard realizes this, can hear how his heart picks up from a steady rhythm and beats away wildly in his chest now.

Richter tries to focus on something, anything to detract from the uncomfortable situation he's landed himself into. There is nothing that catches his eye in the decaying hall, no thought that can help him momentarily escape from this terrible joke on his behalf. He's certain he's only a few minutes away from being a tasty meal for the son of Dracula, and the realization has him mentally berating himself for once again squandering the chance to fight Alucard.

Why, oh why, does he always allow these creatures to speak? It's only proven to work against him, time and time again.

"Does it ring a bell, Belmont?" Alucard offers him a derisive whisper, and his breath is cold, cold, cold. Almost as cold as the grave. It raises goosebumps on Richter's skin, has him wanting to cover his neck with his hand, the one that still remains firmly held against his side. "I promise you that I'm not an illusion this time around, and my teeth won't hurt as much as hers."

"Is there not a mad fucking monster around here?" Richter grits out, his voice rigid and curt.

"You equate madness with a gift. Are you certain that it isn't you who is mad?" It's nearly torturous the way that Alucard seems to dawdle, instilling a sense of urgency in Richter that has his fingers curling in with anticipation. He's not sure what the other is waiting for, but a part of him wishes that he'd just get it over with. "I've said it once before, but I'm certain I could change your mind on the matter, if allowed the chance."

"As if permission means anything to your kind at all."

"It doesn't. It really doesn't." Alucard reaffirms, and if not for how his nerves stood on end, Richter would have rolled his eyes. "But it makes the moment a little sweeter."

Richter is almost eating his words then, because he feels the icy press of lips against his skin, and regret floods through him immediately. He nearly squirms against Alucard, his teeth snapping together in an attempt to stay an embarrassing noise of shock. "If you do this," He finds himself struggling against his own voice, "Then you damn well better make sure I'm dead by the end."

"I know. You value your retribution so highly." It's a soft murmur against his neck, a momentary reprieve.

It doesn't offer much in the way of comfort. Richter finds that Alucard's own advances are much more tender and slower than the Succubus that impersonated him, and he seems to take his sweet time with the way that he allows his lips to travel past his jugular and leave a ghosting trail by his jawline. Richter can feel the knots forming in his stomach, drawing his muscles tight and making him squeeze his eyes shut despite the uneasiness he feels.

The nails that one dug into his skin seem to draw away. He's certain that if not for the gloves, the skin around his chin would be sporting small, red crescents right now. Richter is just grateful that there hasn't been any blood spilt yet, though he wonders how much longer he has before that changes. The sudden freedom allows him to cant his head whichever way he likes, and he tries to shove Alucard away from his skin, but only ends up earning the return of his hand, this time at the opposite side of his throat.

It presses him closer, and Richter can feel Alucard's mouth against his neck again, a twisted parody of a kiss that has a shudder running through him, one that he isn't able to suppress. For a frightening, strained moment, he swears he can feel the tips of his fangs, terribly long and sharp, beginning to press into his skin, threatening to pierce through it once more, just as they had in his dreams. Richter braces himself for dizziness, for a sharp, burning sting, and perhaps the end of his pathetically insufficient life.

Only this time around, Alucard draws away from him in a sudden step back, and Richter finds himself nearly toppling over, his legs seemingly having lost most of their ability to support him. His hand flies to his neck, where the still-damp press of breath and lips can be felt, and the phantom feeling of fangs still remain. It feels as if his heart is trying to leap from his chest, thumping loudly in his own ears.

His other hand crawls over his sternum, the vibrations he feels there mirroring the sudden panic that seems to have set in. Richter regards Alucard with widened, blue eyes, his gaze both full of confusion and astonishment. Alucard seems to look at him with something akin to disappointment, though it's muted and hard to pick apart on his otherwise indifferent face.

"You stopped… why?" The question is leaving Richter before he can stop it.

Alucard gives him a slow shake of his head, choosing to turn away from the hunter as he begins walking away. His voice grows quieter with his long, graceful strides. "Find your lover, Richter, and then leave this place."

"W… Wait! Alucard!" Richter calls out to him, but the request to stay seems to hasten the vampire's exit all the more. Richter sees him close an insurmountable distance in a blur of red and black shadows, before he's disappearing altogether.

He is left alone in the damp, sodden corridor, with only the beating of his own heart to keep him company. Richter stares at where Alucard once stood, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts that he can't seem to sort out. There's too much chaos inside his head, too much to try and process, given how much had just happened in such a short amount of time. The only thing he's certain of is that he's grateful to be alive right now, and nonetheless baffled at his seemingly good luck.

That, and the hint that Alucard gave him… A clock tower. The same one that seemed to constantly change, its layout documented by his ancestors and varying wildly depending on which account he read of. It was hard to tell how much it'd change given the amount of time that's passed. But Richter knew enough of it and what to look for. He need only find the first hint of whirring gears and brass metal.

It was the only sense of direction he had, and if it does turn out to be a trap, then he'll just need to survive it so he can repay Alucard tenfold for his deceit.


	4. Sins of the Flesh

**AN:** Just to be clear, I'm using Richter's design from the Dracula X Chronicles remake of Rondo of Blood. Just so no one gets the wrong mental image. Also! I hope I'm not making Richter appear too weak. I'm honestly trying to write him from an appropriate standpoint when it comes to his emotions. It irks me how characters seem to shrug off traumatic events like they're nothing in fiction, so I'm trying to avoid that.

* * *

When Richter next meets Maria, it's in one of the spiraling staircases leading up to the clock tower. He can barely hear her voice over the metallic grinding and turning of the gears, the sound of steam and pressurized hisses echoing with great noise throughout the seemingly endless spire. He is busy staring up into the dimly lit abyss, studying how the stairs seem to end on nothing, and wondering how safe it would be to traverse the gears themselves.

Maria's footsteps are light, nearly muted, but her bright clothing and long hair stand out in the sea of brass and crimson. Richter finds her bouncing along, nimbly stepping over the sudden breaks and drops in the crumbling staircase. Maria treats the obstacles as if they were an entertaining challenge, never minding how one misplaced step could send her potentially hurdling towards her death.

Richter finds her carefree disregard enviable, and wishes that he could view this castle with such innocent eyes.

"Richter!" She calls out his name, greets him with an anxious smile as she comes to stop before him, sharing with him the limited space of the staircase. Richter glances behind her, notes how one small mishap could see her falling into a pit full of red hot, steaming metal, and quickly sets about trading places with her, directing Maria with his hands until her back faces the safety of the wall. She regards him with confused eyes, "What's wrong, Richter?"

"You're giving me a series of heart attacks. That's what wrong." Richter glances down at the seemingly oblivious girl, his expression pinched with worry. "Maria, this place is extremely dangerous. What are you doing in this part of the castle?"

"Well, I came to tell you something important." Her arms cross over each other, and her stance straightens, lending a few centimeters to her height. She's still so painfully short next to Richter. "I've found one of the girls! She's the daughter of some doctor, so she knows about medicine, too. I've told her to stay and wait for us while we find the others, which-!" Maria points a finger upwards. "She knows where another girl is!"

"That's good, Maria." Richter can honestly say that he's surprised by her efficiency in finding the others. If only he could have such a streak of luck… Richter casts a glance upwards, to where the top of the clock tower remains unseen, and swallows past a suddenly thick throat. He ends up clearing his voice, offering a cough into his fist, before he's continuing, "Listen. I need you to return to that girl after you find the other one. I'll meet with you shortly, but I may need a few hours."

"Oh?" Maria seems to take notice of his castaway glance, her own green eyes trailing upwards and gazing into the shadowed top of the spire. "Is there something important here, Richter? Is it dangerous?"

"Yes, and incredibly so. I'd feel much better if you didn't come with me, Maria… not that I doubt your abilities. But I'm not entirely sure of what lies ahead. Only that it could be troublesome, and having another person to defend would make matters thorny. Will you wait for me instead?"

Maria's face seems to fall a bit, her brows furrowing in what may be thought or disappointment. Richter isn't sure of which, but she's soon responding gently, if not a bit dejectedly, "Okay… I promise I won't follow you. But… if it's too dangerous, will you promise me that you'll leave? You won't stay if something tries to hurt you?"

Richter knows that despite any promises he makes, he will undoubtedly not be leaving the clock tower anytime soon. Not if there's a shred of truth in what Alucard spoke of. Certainly not if he encounters the Count himself there. Whatever he finds waiting for him in the spire will no doubt shape the next night spent in the castle, and Richter desperately hopes that it's not one of misery, of mourning.

Maria's face is imploring, however. Her eyes are vulnerable with worry, her face soft in the same way, and her hands even reach out to clasp at Richter's arm in a pleading motion. Even as he stares down at her, preemptively knowing of the lie about to spill from his lips, he finds that he can't deny her the answer she wants.

So he closes his eyes and offers her a slow nod, his lips spreading into a false smile, "I promise, I won't put myself in danger. Just wait for me, and I'll be back in a few hours. Before the next morning. I promise."

"Good," Maria is breathing out the word, relief apparent on her face. She allows her hands to slide from Richter's forearm and grasps at his own now. "If you're lying to me, you'll regret it, mister! I know a few things that'll scare the lights out of you."

Richter offers her an incredulous laugh, "I'm certain you do. Trust me, I'm not fool enough to incur your wrath, not if the rumors of your family are true."

"Right, well," Maria seems to fumble for words, her face flushing briefly, "I guess I'll be going now. If you happen to find Annette here, tell her that I miss her, and I can't wait to see her again."

There's a heavy pause on Richter's part at that, his stomach twisting with both guilt and unrest. He can feel his lips slipping down into a frown, and tries his best to shrug his sudden melancholy off in an attempt to appear neutral. When he finally gathers the courage to respond, it's with rigid, tight words, "I will. I'm certain she'll be thrilled to hear you're okay."

"Likewise! I'm excited for all of us to finally leave this place. Maybe I'll finally get to know the man she keeps talking about all the time." Maria sends him a telling wink, to which Richter feels another wave of distress assault him over.

In a desperate attempt to conceal his growing concern, he waves Maria off dismissively, trying to feign chagrin at her prodding. "Right, right. I'm sure you'll have a grand time objectifying me for your whims." Richter moves along the stairs, and purposely blocks off the only available path for Maria to follow him. "Now get going, before one of us slips and falls, and whatever you do, don't come back here."

"Be careful, Richter!" Maria is backing down the stairs then, and her foot nearly plunges right into a missing chunk leading to nowhere. Richter reaches out just in time to catch her by her arm, where he then pulls her to safety, all the while leveling her with an exasperated look. Her hand flies to her chest, and she peers over her shoulder at the hole that threatened to send her plummeting down to the gears below. "O-Oh, right. I should probably watch where I'm going."

Richter has to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He instead hisses out a weary sigh. "Please, for the love of everything, use your eyes, Maria."

She doesn't offer him words, but rather averts her eyes ashamedly. Richter watches with rapt attention as she descends back down the hazardous stairs, waiting until she's disappeared around the bend before he's turning his eyes upwards again.

It's perhaps a foolish way of ascending the tower, but the warped architecture of the castle doesn't allow for many easy paths. Richter soon finds himself leaping from gear to gear, timing his jumps with their slow and sometimes cruelly fast rotations. More often than not, he is slipping on their jagged edges, finding himself scrambling to grab hold of something and hoist himself to safety.

To make matters worse, the monsters of the clock tower seem to catch onto his struggling, and take exceptional glee in trying to undermine him. Medusa Heads float annoying around him, threatening to silence and still him at the slightest brush. Richter had tried to ignore them at first, casting off their threat as a minimal one, but a close brush with one of the floating heads would nearly see him toppling over a gear and falling to his death. He'd barely managed to wiggle the feeling back into his arms quick enough for him to cast his whip out and wrap the weapon around a hanging ledge. As he'd dangled there, hanging over the hissing and clanking gears, he'd cast a heated glare at the heads that swam by him in the air.

It must have taken an hour to ascend the tower, but when he reaches the top and takes a moment to rest underneath the massive bell, Richter notices a hallway leading from the bell to another room. The top of the clock tower didn't house what he'd been expecting, but instead seems to branch off into a series of corridors that stretch down either side of it.

There are only two to choose from, and the odds of finding Annette in either of them makes his stomach turn slightly. Richter finds himself seemingly frozen to the spot, his legs feeling like statues cemented to the ground. Apprehension licks at him in waves, a primal, gutting fear that sends his heart beating away and his breath quickening. Reluctance settles heavily in his bones, weighing him down to the point where he feels as though he could sink to the floor and simply lie there, contented with not ever knowing the truth.

Richter has almost never felt fear in the face of a monster, has always faced down every challenge thrown his way with impeccable professionalism and dauntless ferocity. When the danger lurks not inside the grotesque image of a monster, or the alluring nature of a vampire, but instead potentially resides in the woman he'd dreamt of marrying one day, he finds that his courage has withered away.

If he were to go down that hallway and find Annette turned, could he raise the Vampire Killer against her? Would he have the strength to strike her down, when the thought of even raising his voice at her made him want to flinch? Would Annette try to fight him, brainwashed by the Count and his deceitful, honeyed magic, or would she fight until the very end, begging Richter to do what was right? Some part of him prayed that Annette would have strength, that God himself would imbue the precious lady with enough righteousness to lead her away from the dark.

He can neither bear the image of Annette pleading for her life or attacking him, and Richter feels sorrow swallow him once more, draining him of his desire to continue. Deep down, however, he knows that he doesn't have a choice in the matter, is obligated by his bloodline to finish what had been started once again. If Annette were to stand in his way… he would slay her, the same as any other monster. It would be the only mercy he could offer her, as undeath was a fate Richter saw worse than death. To live as a corpse was to stray from the light of God, to cast oneself into eternal damnation. There was no peace for the souls of the tormented damned, no salvation for those afflicted by the cold disease.

It all sounds so simplistic, easy to write down on paper with bullet-points. But he knows the act itself will be almost impossible to see through. He could offer no alternative to her if she were to fall to the Count. There wouldn't even be the comfort to know that Annette would take her place beside God in heaven. Only that she would no longer pass on the pain bestowed unfairly upon her.

Richter doubts the legitimacy of his conviction, and decides to leave the outcome for the future to decide.

He chooses to descend down the hall to his right, and the way it brightens towards the end and presents him with a web-ridden door that radiates the slightest bit of light makes sweat bead at his hairline.

* * *

The Belmont doesn't notice him in the rafters, doesn't see how his cloudy gold eyes peer down at him from his dangling position. The hunter remains still below him, standing underneath the grand mouth of the clock tower's bell, his face drawn into an expression full of dread, of palpable panic that permeates the atmosphere around him.

Alucard can smell it on him, sharp and inviting, begging to be instigated into something more terrible, more consuming. It beckons him to fly down, to assume his humanoid guise and stoke the embers of doubt that filled his mind, to send Richter to his knees the way Shaft had. And then, when his blood was filled with the intoxicating aroma of fear, he'd take great delight in drawing the hunter into his arms, only to drain him dry within moments.

A death disguised as a small, twisted comfort. It's sickeningly sweet.

Alucard doubts his involvement in matters is needed at all. Richter eventually turns, with slow, dread filled anticipation, to the hallway leading down into the clock tower's only room. Alucard almost feels remorseful for leading the hunter here so early, inviting him to the grim truth that waited beyond that door at the end of the hallway. Would it have been worth it to allow hope to fester inside inside of him, to let his morality be bolstered by his feeble optimism?

Of these things, he's not sure, but Alucard does know that his aimless wandering was growing dull to watch. He dares not to move as Richter's footsteps echo throughout the clock tower, sluggish and full of reluctant duty. Gold eyes peer out at nothing, wait in silence as the Belmont's footsteps grows quieter and softer, until the sound of hinges being exercised against their rust is heard.

Alucard closes his eyes, unravels the leathery wings from his assumed form as he drops from the rafters above. His form warps as he drops, the wings fading back into his thick cape, his limbs morphing to resemble a man once more, and he lands with quiet grace, his knees bending only slightly as he does.

It is only a moment longer before he hears a deep cry, full of anguish and rage, echoing back down the hallway. It pierces at his sensitive ears, and draws forth a hissing sigh from the dhampir, who regards the hall with conflicted eyes, his brows furrowing slightly at the noise that still seemed to echo past him, carrying itself long and winded down the clock tower.

Alucard debates briefly whether or not he should remain at bay or spy upon the situation unfolding just meters from his position. He finds himself moving forward, despite not having made a clear decision, and his footsteps are slow despite the speed he possesses, purposely measured to allow the passage of time. He allows his fingers to trail along the stones of the passage, to snuff out the the wicks of the candles that burn dimly, their dying hisses the only indication of his arrival.

Richter would, after all, need a moment to come to terms with what he found. Best to let him grieve for a short time before plaguing him with his presence once more.

* * *

"I only see you on the floor. Your heart's not beating anymore. My lust for you just cannot wait. Your skin, it tastes like chocolate."

If it were possible to have burned his eyes from his sockets, Richter would have done so before they landed upon the woman lying before him. For while her face was familiar to him in such an intimate way, it was, without doubt, not the one he'd been wanting to see.

It is her, but at the same time, it isn't, for the form that lies upon the velvet sofa drooped in crimson satin and cushions is more beast than woman. He can see it reflected in the unusual glow of her once simple eyes, in the devious curl of her untypically blood red lips, and the way she spreads herself out, her arms draped over the back of the sofa while her chest juts out provocatively, enhancing the swell of her breasts.

Terrible protrusions extend from her back, spreading out wide and languid around her body, their leathery black flesh sporting the smallest curls of spikes at their ends. They cage her body on the sofa, span across the length of the seat, and droop around the cushions that sit at her sides. Richter, in absolute horror, allows his eyes to trail down the once innocent form of Annette, now twisted into something sinful and dark, so unlike the woman he once knew.

Her beautiful dress is gone, replaced by a corset and meters of lace, by stockings that trail up her long and shapely legs, by undergarments that barely cover her most secretive areas. Richter finds himself wanting to shuck his coat off and throw it over her, to try and preserve a single shred of decency of the woman he once held in his arms with honor. He cannot stop the roaming of his eyes, of how they drink in the monstrous traits that mar her painfully inhumane body now.

Her nails curl against the cushions of the sofa, long and sharp and black and so unlike her former, soft hands. The eyes that watch him are more akin to an eagle regarding their prey, piercing in the dim light of the room and unbearably hard, cold. When her lips part to allow her tongue to run over the crimson flush of them, he spots the sight of her canines, now inhumanely long and protruding well past her bottom lip.

Richter, in a moment of great despair, finds himself wanting to sob out pitifully, to call for Annette to come back to him. He yearns deeply for her once amiable face, for her soft and unmistakable human features, for her hands that didn't sport the claws that could shred him to pieces. He wants nothing more than to blink, and find her sleeping peacefully, waiting for him whilst the Count dawdled elsewhere. He wants nothing more than to touch at her shoulder, gently, and rouse her from her sleep with the promise of leaving this all behind.

In a moment of pure selfishness, Richter finds himself wishing that it had been any of the other women. The doctor's daughter, the other missing girl… even the thought of trading Maria for Annette's safety crossed his mind, and as soon as the thought came, Richter found himself nearly retching at his own coldness. His hand shoots to his mouth, where he covers a muffled moan, the sound so broken and unlike himself, that he's not even sure it was him who made the noise.

Annette's smile grows sharper at that, and one of her arms detaches from the sofa's back, her hand crawling forward to splay her fingers towards Richter. He stares with abject horror at its clawed tips, his blue eyes blown wide against his quickly paling face. "Richter," Even her voice seems to have been warped slightly, its tone like liquid gold and deeper than it once was. "Oh, Richter, I've waited all night for you."

"No…" He gives a slow, disbelieving shake of his eyes, his eyes unmoving and full of open grief. "You weren't supposed to be like this. Annette…" His voice breaks on her name, sinking into a paltry whisper that is barely audible.

Annette cants her head curiously, her once pinned, blonde hair now cascading freely down her voluptuous form. The hand that is held out for Richter turns, until her palm is facing upwards, and the way her fingers curl in towards herself, commanding Richter forwards, makes his knees nearly buckle. "Come to me, Richter. Let me kiss you, darling. I've longed for you since the night began. I miss the taste of your lips, and I grow hungrier for them as the moments pass."

Richter cannot keep himself from stepping forward, despite the panic that sings in his heart. His mind is a chaotic mess, full of memories of twisted taunts and prophecies come true, and the realization that it was all on part of his carelessness, of his lack of true conviction when it came to saving Annette. Even as his feet carry him forward, he feels tears spring at his eyes, burning them with their heat and making him blink furiously through their blinding presence. They cling to his lashes and spill down his cheeks in hot rivulets, turning his face unbearably warm with desolation.

Richter finds his hands lifting, reaching towards Annette with trembling fingers, and his footsteps go awry with the sudden wave of regret that flows through him. He stumbles over himself, lands on his knees before the sofa, where his hands clutch at Annette's legs, his head bowed against her as he finds himself dissolving into a series of shakes that are not unlike sobs.

His voice is thick when he speaks, so full of heartbreak that he fears he will never get the words out, "I'm so sorry, Annette. God, I have failed you, and now I cannot even bring you back from the brink of death. I've done this to you, love. I am so sorry. I'm so unworthy of my name, for I couldn't even save the woman I love! How can I ever think myself strong enough to do anything else?!" He nearly wails the last sentence, his fingers curling against Annette's frigid, pale skin.

"You haven't failed me, Richter," She coos comfortingly, her hands coming down to curl into his hair and stroke gently through the strands. If it weren't for their unnatural coldness, Richter could have lost himself to their soothing touches. Instead, it serves as a grim reminder of what his love has become; another servant to the machine of death they both dwell inside. "In fact, I am grateful for your late arrival. For if you had found me earlier, how could I have ever known of this wonderful boon?"

Richter finds himself patting his balled fists against her thighs, almost desperately, as he retorts loudly against her words, "A curse! It's a curse, Annette, and you've been made blind to it!" His hands grip at her, try to find any trace of warmth left in her flesh, but only the cold chill of the grave meets him.

"My eyes have been opened, Richter! Look at me. Gaze upon me." She frames his face with her hands and forces him to cant his head up, his eyes narrowed through the tears as he tries not to glare at the sight in front of him. His teeth still come to clench visibly, regardless. "Aren't I beautiful like this? Wouldn't you love to join me? You and I, Richter, we could be together for eternity. I can give you so much more in this form than I could before."

"No. No…" Richter tries to shake his head, to pull himself away from Annette, but she holds him steady, refusing to relinquish her grip. "You aren't… you aren't her, anymore. Annette would have never asked for this. She would have been appalled, would have-"

"I was. But I was a fool, Richter!" She leans down, and her face draws nearer, so near that Richter can feel her icy breath fanning his face. Her expression softens somewhat, and it almost seems as if she mourns for his acceptance. "I was terrified of him, Richter, but once he drew me into his arms, it was as if all was right. And the sensations! I could not explain them to you if I tried. Pleasure so great, my mind could barely comprehend what was being given to me. Never have I writhed like that before in another's arms. Just the thought alone makes me wish for it all over again!"

Richter feels his stomach churn at her words, a twinge of nausea making the room spin briefly as the mental image passes through his mind. He averts his eyes from her, before squeezing them shut, his hands shoving weakly at her. "Be quiet, please. Don't speak to me of that. Don't tell me of what he did to you…"

"He is not as monstrous as you believe, Richter. He can be gentle when he wishes to. I have always feared being taken by a man before, but my fears were chased away by him. Be thankful for what he has given me, for now I can share it with you! He will share it with you, too, if you let him, Richter." Her voice grows quiet, her hands drawing Richter's face close until her dark lips barely brush his own. Her words are a whisper upon his mouth. "I never knew of such carnal pleasures before. Not in my wildest dreams would I ever think vampires could offer me this. Is this what God has been keeping us from, I wonder? If so, then I do not understand why."

Despite the growing ire at her words, Richter finds that he cannot pull himself away. Annette's hold upon him is strangely intoxicating, numbing his desire to escape as the seconds pass. In fact, he feels his arms wounding around her, his mind clouding despite the rage and jealousy that bubbled like poison in the back of his mind.

If anything, the emotions only inspired the purest form of possession to take hold of him. He pulls Annette tight against his chest, his hands straying from the cool flesh of her back up into the long strands of fine blonde hair that trailed down it. From his spot on the floor, her legs are spread on either side of him, drawing him between them as he briefly pointed his gaze upwards, catching her own vibrant one with darkened irises.

Annette's hands stray from his tear-stained cheeks to claw wantonly into his hair, dragging Richter up onto the sofa with her as she pulled in him for yet another kiss, though this one was undeniably hungrier. Her head tilts back until it meets the soft cushions of the sofa, Richter following her all the while, his form eclipsing that of the woman who once was painfully human, but now irrevocably a monster.

But he did not care. Not in that moment, not as he salvaged what remained of Annette through this creature's icy lips and sharp touches. He paid no mind to the wings that joined the legs that wrapped around his midsection, nor the hint of too-sharp teeth that bit and tugged at his lips, before a cold tongue was flooding his mouth.

Richter found himself pushing back the strands of her hair, mouthing hungrily at the lips that eagerly welcomed him, and even when he felt her hands sliding down his front to palm at the growing shape beneath his white trousers, he couldn't find it in himself to push them away, despite the horror that lurked in his heart. Instead, he presses his hips forward, allows her hand to rub insistently at him as he all but smothers the woman with himself, his arms wrapping tightly around her like immovable vices.

Deep in his mind, Richter knew that something was wrong with him, for there was no justification for the way he touched this twisted version of Annette, of how he let her work him into a state of arousal so confusing and consuming, that his instincts knew not of whether to run or strip her of what little clothes she wore. Despite the way his chest seizes with sharp pangs of panic and foreboding, he finds that he cannot break his mouth away from Annette's skin, nor stop how his hands greedily roam across her skin, of how they grasp with wanton desire at her soft breasts, and trail with need down to her hips, where they sink beneath the flimsy garment there and touch at her in firm, knowing rubs.

The gasps that spill from her blood red lips is enough to chase away any cognitive function from Richter, and the way she spreads her legs eagerly around him makes him want to sink to the floor again and replace his fingers with his mouth. Annette is not silent past the noises of pleasure. She allows the most carnal, demanding desires spill from her lips as Richter touches her, and her clawed hands return the favor eagerly with growing enthusiasm, to the point where Richter finds himself faltering and shuddering with hot streaks of pleasure, his head bowing momentarily against her shoulder. Even then, he allows his lips to trail lazily across her frigid skin, to use both tongue and teeth to tease at her in sensual ways.

And yet, still something sour remains planted in his gut. Something stronger still overpowers the lust that is quickly engulfing him, holding the strong feeling at bay with its desperate attempt to warn him of something. Richter's heart pounds away heavily in his chest, but the feeling makes his ribcage hurt with something awful. The pounding is like a steadily approaching crescendo, building up to some terrible climax, but he knows not of what will happen once he meets it, only that whatever it is will probably kill him. His thoughts have no meaning to them, just white static composing a raucous chorus of chaos inside his head. He's so very confused, growing more aware of the way his body seems to move without his will, and the realization has him nearly panting with shock.

Or perhaps it was how Annette's hands have sunk into his britches, and palm needily at his straining member. He can only find it in himself to sink his fingers lower, and push one into her unusually cold entrance, though the reaction she gives is expected. He feels her hips grind down, sinking it to the knuckle, and the way she rocks against it makes desire flame in his groin. He nearly finds himself groaning at the sight of her, her head thrown back as she moans out a chorus of encouragements, her long neck glistening with the beginnings of sweat.

"Oh, Richter," She purrs in a low moan, before she is abruptly cut off by a gasp. He curls his finger somewhat and watches as she twitches with a sharp jolt of pleasure, her fingers curling dangerously around his cock as she does. "You were always so good with your hands. Yes, oh goodness yes, ah!" Her sharp teeth bite down into her swollen lips, and Richter, despite knowing how unnatural they are, finds himself drawn to the sight. Annette's hands suddenly depart from his britches, and the loss of contact makes Richter want to whine needily. As quickly as they left, however, they are soon thumbing at the clasp to their front, their clawed tips teasing at the button with small strokes. "I desire to have you in me, Richter. Fill me up and make me yours. Chase away his touch with your own. Take me as hard as you want, however you want. I am yours, love."

The words are both honeyed and bitter. Richter finds himself nearly snarling at the mention of the Count touching her, and his hands withdraw angrily from her nethers to grasp tightly at her pale arms, and drag her down the length of the sofa. The gasp from Annette is sharp, but a pleased look quickly crosses her face at the motion, and she accommodates him, her form slinking down into the cushions as she grasps at his wrists. She pulls them to the front of her corset, where the strings are the only thing holding the piece together. His fingers curl around the bow tied there, though his eyes gaze down at her, their sudden hardness masking any palpable emotion on his face.

Annette meets his stare expectantly, her lips curled into a lustful smirk. "What are you waiting for, darling? Take what is rightfully yours. Use me however you wish. I'm waiting for you, Richter."

The sick feeling remains. Richter finds that with the fresh bout of anger comes a bit of clarity, the vivid emotion having cleared his mind somewhat. Now his hands linger with the lace pinched between his fingers, and he suddenly can't bring himself to undo the corset. Instead, he feels a fresh wave of chagrin consume him, overpowering the sightless lust he'd felt just seconds before. The wrongness of the situation seems to dawn on him then, and he soon fixes Annette with a pained look, his eyes turning soft and vulnerable again. "Annette… I… I can't do-"

He's pausing in the middle of his words, stopping short at the look of trepidation that seems to have overtaken Annette's ashen face. Her bright eyes are blown wide in what appears to be gut-wrenching fear, her hands having slid away from his britches to clutch protectively at the cushions upon the sofa. Even her body suddenly feels like stone beneath him, rigid with not the first muscle moving. Richter notices that her eyes seem to look straight past him, over his shoulder and at something obviously waiting beyond his line of sight.

He does not get the opportunity to turn, for he feels something grabbing at his hair and yanking him back, unforgivingly hard. The force exerted in the movement is enough to send him sprawling a few feet from the sofa, and his body spins and tumbles across the floor until he's left staring up at the lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The breath is knocked clean out of him at the sudden assault, and it takes a moment of ragged breathing for him to find his focus, and search for what - or who - just tossed him like a ragdoll. He peers back at Annette with blurred vision, but her form is hidden behind the black cloak and curtain of silvery-blonde hair that cascades down the intruder's back. Richter immediately recognizes them for who they are.

And then his face is turning blood red with shame.

Her voice rises over the sudden commotion, though it now lacks all the smooth charm it had before, and shakes like a leaf in the wind, "W-What are you doing here? He said you w-wouldn't interfere!"

" Silence !" Alucard commands her, and he lifts a booted foot to kick at her just below her generous chest, and the force sends both Annette and the sofa toppling over. Richter hears a pained cry escape her, and he finds himself wanting to scramble to his knees and rush to her side. When he moves, however, he can still feel the evidence of his weakness straining against his trousers, and feels himself want to shrink back to the floor with a frustrated cry.

Annette seems to fumble for a moment, before she's yanking herself upright and gliding from her spot amongst the spilled cushions into the air. Her face is contorted into rage now, her once soft features sharpened by the way her eyes are drawn into slits, and her sharp teeth flash furiously at Alucard, "How dare you touch me! You have no business being here!"

"This castle has been my home for at least four of your measly lifetimes. You've only been its guest for less than three days, and even then, you are nothing but a lowly servant of its master now!" Alucard fires back at her, his usual, level tone slipping into a heated hiss. "Fly back to his side, or face death. I've no time for my father's ridiculous games."

"My game is not with you, prince. " Annette sneers at him, though her eyes flit to Richter, who has yet to gather himself from his spot on the floor. "Richter belongs to me! I will not have anyone else get in the way of me claiming him!"

Alucard wastes no time with drawing his silver longsword, and the fearful flinch Annette gives at the sight of it makes Richter's gut twist with misplaced sympathy. The glinting end is pointed towards the newly made Succubus, its form lacking the first shake from its owner. "You choose death then? So be it."

Richter feels a gasp tear from his chest, and he quickly tries to scramble to his feet, his boots sliding against the floor as he rushes at Alucard's back. The vampire's form seems to be encompassed in an eerie red glow, his aura radiating off of him in threatening waves. His arm draws back with the sword, and his legs begin to bend with the promise of leaping forward, but Annette is screeching at him then, and her form wavers for a moment as she allows herself to sink out of the room through its stone walls. Alucard pauses in his planned attack, his gold irises watching her retreat with an irritated edge to them, and his arm lowers with his sword as soon as she's gone. Richter finds himself stopping short of the vampire then, his lungs heaving in mouthfuls of sobering breaths at the sudden clarity he feels. It's as though a thick fog has been lifted from his mind at Annette's departure, and he finds the blind numbness he felt quickly being replaced with a slew of other emotions.

Guilt and self loathing burn inside of him, escalating into an inferno so wild, that he feels bereft of anything else besides those two feelings. His hands come to grasp frantically at his hair as the realization sinks in once more that Annette is no longer a human, and that the Count had personally corrupted her himself. Worse yet, her poisonous words had all confirmed that she'd been violated by him not only in terms of her soul, but also her body. Richter once again feels violently sick, and the wave of nausea that threatens to have him expel what little is in his stomach makes his face and eyes burn.

He releases a noise full of anguish, his mouth parting on a noise that seems to drain him of all his strength in a single moment. He stumbles against the sudden weakness he feels in his knees, until his back is meeting the cold stone of a wall and he's sliding down it slowly. Richter can feel his heart threatening to shatter into a thousand pieces, beating painfully against the raw wounds inflicted upon it. He can fathom no other feeling in that moment, besides suddenly wanting to curl into a ball and never move again. Fresh tears burn his eyes, and he doesn't even try to hold them at bay this time, instead allowing them to slip freely down his cheeks and drip steadily onto the collar of his coat.

His voice is a broken whisper, her name like venom on his tongue, "Oh, Annette…"

Soft footsteps alert him to Alucard's slow approach, and the sound of steel singing against its sheath is heard as he glances up, noting how the vampire puts his sword away. Richter's mind goes completely blank at the sight of the pale haired man, though he feels another wave of shame eat at him in his presence. He knows not of how long Alucard watched Annette toy with him, but the short time he was aware of him being there is enough to confirm that the other man was at least informed of what he was doing.

Alucard's boots come to stop in front of Richter, and the way the vampire looks down at him with his luminescent eyes makes the hunter's skin crawl. "That was very foolish of you, Belmont. A few more moments would have sealed your fate. She would have stolen the life right out of you."

The condescension in his tone makes Richter bristle, and fresh anger burns through his veins, chasing away the shame as he yanks himself to his feet in one, quick rush, his head nearly spinning with the motion. Alucard's eyes follow him with an endless patience, and the unreadable look upon the other's face makes Richter want to punch wildly at it. Instead, he shoves his hands forward, and allows his next words to guide his misplaced anger, "You tried to kill her! You hurt her!"

His hands meet Alucard's chest, and the other man barely stumbles back enough for it to be satisfying. He does, however, narrow his molten eyes at Richter. "I saved your life. Be grateful for once in it, you insolent curr."

Richter feels something snap behind his eyelids, and he throws a barely aimed punch at the other, though is pleased when it manages to catch Alucard directly across his face. His nose, to be exact. There's the sound of something crunching under his knuckles, and the feel of it alone is enough to inspire the briefest smirk upon Richter's face. His chest heaves with breaths that don't seem to fill his lungs, and they burn with each intake of air.

That is, until Alucard is recovering, his face straightening from the way it recoiled and his nose giving way to a steady stream of blood that drips over his lips. His mouth opens on a hissing snarl then, his long, sharp fangs flashing in the chandelier's light, before he's digging his gloved fingers into Richter's covered biceps and easily lifting him like a child. Richter feels his back smash into the wall behind him, his skull cracking off the stones painfully as his vision goes dizzy, unfocused. He's aware of the gasp that is torn from his lungs, at the deep ache that radiates from his shoulders down to his hips, and of the migraine that throbs from his wounded head. His chest feels hollow from the air that's been knocked out of him.

Alucard's voice is a fuzzy sound next to his ear, and he barely notices how the other is pressed against him - threateningly, of course - his cold chest pinning Richter in place as his nails bite through his black gloves and into the hunter's skin. Richter manages a whimper at the feel of the sharp points sinking into his flesh, drawing crescents of dripping crimson that soak through his coat's sleeves. His head tilts back, his eyes shutting against the vertigo that still plagues him. "I should have left you to your own devices, then. If this is how you repay me for my kindness, then perhaps you deserve death after all."

"You don't understand…" Richter wheezes, his anger leaving him in an exhausting gulf. "I loved her… I lost her… She was all I had…"

He feels Alucard jostle him roughly at that, his hands shaking him briefly as if to drive home his next words. "I do understand. I also understand that you're a weak fool, and my time with you is wasted. I should have taken my chances with your ancestor instead!"

He is, isn't he? Richter feels the truth of Alucard's words sting him mercilessly. He bites at his bottom lip, tries to keep the tremble out of it as his chest tightens with the threat of another agonizing wave of heartbreak. He wants nothing more in that moment to just cease existing, his being plagued with emotions so intense, he fears they will rip him to shreds. "I know I don't compare to my predecessors. You don't have to tell me this."

"Stop being so pathetic." Alucard nearly growls at him.

Richter feels the intense desire to look away, to try and hide his now obvious weakness from the vampire who holds him like a doll. If it had been days prior, he would have been clawing tooth and nail to break free from his grasp. Now, he can't even find it in himself to grasp at his whip, which remains neglected at his side. He feels so drained, so empty of anything tangible now, besides the sorrow that continues to devour him. His eyes feel sore and heavy, his face still hot with tears, and a sense of acceptance seems to linger over him, a dull ache that makes him want to give in, and let the castle consume him whole.

Alucard seems to sense his unwillingness to fight any longer, or perhaps the way Richter lets himself sag in his grip says it all. He feels the nails detaching from the skin of his arms, the vampire drawing back just enough to fix him with a look that almost borders on empathetic. If Alucard expects any words from him, Richter chases it away with a defeated shake of his head. The other man's lips part on an unspoken word, before the barest of sighs is slipping past them, cold and somehow pleasing against Richter's warm face.

He gets no more taunting from Alucard, but instead the feel of the other man's arms upon his wounded biceps, covering the bloodied marks that his own nails left. Richter eyes one of his hands with weary interest, but it's not long before he's letting his gaze drop. Alucard pulls him away from the wall, steadying him in his hands as Richter nearly feels himself collapse once more. The hunter spares the briefest of glances at him, his blue eyes bright from his tears and settled against reddened whites.

Alucard meets his eyes with a half-lidded stare, their golden depths softened once more. Richter finds himself transfixed by their unusual color, nearly melting into the other man's grasp under their somehow soothing spell. He knows not of if Alucard is drawing him into some sort of magical trance, but it certainly feels like it. Or perhaps it was Richter's loneliness and exhaustion finally catching up to him. The feel of another being's touch was enough to make him want to wrap his arms about the vampire, despite his previous qualms with him.

It didn't help that, even with blood staining the other's face, Alucard was the very definition of beauty and grace. His fair skin and moonlit hair was enchanting enough on their own, but the sharp angles of his face and the regalness of his attire also lended to his undeniable charm. Richter blames his sudden attraction to the other on his experience with Annette, and offhandedly passes it off as the remnants of his earlier arousal.

The vampire allows a single hand to trail from his bicep to his hip, where it holds Richter at bay, all the while supporting his quickly deteriorating posture. There's a brief moment where he sees a look of wonderment pass over Alucard's face, his golden eyes studying the hand upon Richter's hip, before they're flitting back up to the hunter's own orbs. "You need to rest. Come. I'll show you to my quarters."


	5. Bleed Me Dry

"I'm afraid I'm a slave, I'm weak and average."

Richter hasn't the heart nor the fight left in him to object to Alucard's proposal, and he allows the other to cart him from the clock tower's room with aching, dead limbs. It seems as if all the exhaustion of traversing that castle has finally caught up to him, rushed by Annette's cruel and insidious trap. He can feel his eyes drooping into half slits, his vision blurring with sleep as Alucard presses a cold, guiding hand against his side.

He knows not why he allows the vampire to touch him and bare his weight as he does, and to be honest, Richter isn't sure he could find it in himself to even look for a reason to object. Alucard's hands are gentle, a stark contrast to the overwhelming strength he'd demonstrated just moments earlier. Richter much prefers this so the biting feel of the other's nails slicing into him, and the aching of his wounded arms is a testament to the pain those hands can inflict.

He feels no ignominy at letting himself sag against the other, especially once they come across the gaping abyss of the clock tower's spire. His eyes have already closed when he feels Alucard taking the entirety of his weight into his arms, and the comfort of being held as they descend with what should be terrifying speed lulls Richter into a short, fleeting sleep.

Unconsciousness never fully claims him, but he dozes in and out, occasionally peeking through his lashes to spy the gorgeous face of the pale man as he glides with unmatchable finesses through the castle, or to notice the flickering of sconces casting their constantly waning light off of the castle's walls. He feels a shift in temperature the longer Alucard carries him, and the castle slowly grows warmer, its dank coldness fading behind them.

It's enough to have Richter turning his head into the other's chest, his limbs going limp as he tries to absorb what little comfort he can draw from the current situation. His head quite literally hurts from the chaos that has been his life since he first arrived in this cursed place, and his heart throbs unrelentingly with what has become of Annette.

His fingers curl into Alucard's cloak at that, and Richter purses his lips tightly to suppress another woeful noise from escaping him. He feels the need to cry once more, but it feels as if his eyes have dried up, and therefore all he can offer is a shuddered breath instead.

Richter knows he's not the first of his family to have had a precious one ripped from his hands, but he selfishly thinks that it has never been this cruel before. He curses both his luck and himself for the tragedies that plague him, feels self-loathing eat at him like an awful disease, withering him away into an empty shell. In that moment of weakness, he wishes he had never inherited the name of Belmont, for perhaps then Annette would have never been stolen away from him.

They could have lived happily together, growing old, siring children, enjoying each other's company until the eventful hands of death claimed them. Richter can feel the weight of his family's whip resting against his side, drooping as he's carried to God knows where. If he had the strength in him, his bitterness would have empowered him to rip the cursed object from his belt and fling it away.

Instead, he feels the faint pulse of disapproval emanating from the weapon, and chastises himself for ever having had the thought. The whip didn't cast him into this situation, nor should he be pointing fingers where they didn't belong. It was absolutely inconsiderate of him to think about abandoning the whip, considering the sacrifices put into bringing the weapon into existence.

He would be doing his entire family a grievous dishonor by treating it with such carelessness and disregard.

Still, he aches with heartbreak so severe, he fears it will shatter him from the inside out. Richter can't fathom anything besides the way his chest seems to want to cave into itself, and thinks idly that if it could help at all, he'd claw his way inside with his bare hands and rip his wounded heart out in one swift motion. Perhaps he would offer it to Alucard in a mock show of countenance.

He wants nothing more than to forget, to wipe the memory of Annette clean from his mind. Perhaps then, he could find some inkling of peace. But as long as her face - pale and warped by magic so dark, it was disgustingly palpable - lingered behind his eyes, there would be no peace for him. There would be nothing to soothe him, unless it was her death, and even then, he would have to live with the knowledge that she'd not only died once, but twice, and at his own hands, nonetheless.

Would there be anything left for him to live for once this castle has finished toying with him mercilessly? The idea of even walking past its front gate seems like an impossible dream now, one that Richter can feel slipping further and further away. The inevitability of dying here, buried amongst the rubble and monsters feels more and more real to him. He knows that this castle will be his grave.

So stuck is he in his own melancholy that he doesn't realize that they've stopped until he feels Alucard shifting slightly, moving his hand so he can both push open a door and continue holding Richter securely. Richter allows his eyes to open slowly, wearily, and gaze about the two of them with waning curiosity.

The room that greets him seems to be some sort of sitting room. It's more luxurious than anything he's ever laid eyes on, both in his own estate and Annette's. The furniture and knick knacks seem to carry age with them, but it doesn't lessen the elegance of their design any less. Gold and amber fabric is stretched over almost everything, sporting patterns of thread so intricate, Richter wonders who on earth could have made them.

He hears the soft sound of the door closing behind him, and then Alucard is moving across the room in long, graceful strides, bringing Richter over to a passage that is covered by long, thick drapes of crimson velvet. The vampire shoulders past the heavy fabric, and the room it leads into is darker than its neighboring one, with only a few lamps lit to cast their golden glow across the shadows.

But Richter can see what Alucard is carrying him to, and the sight is both slightly unnerving and a source of relief for his pain riddled mind and body. The four poster bed sports a canopy that wraps around its entire circumference, and the sheets that hang down from the ceiling are barely translucent enough to see through.

The bed, however, looks so invitingly comfortable and warm. The headboard is nearly hidden by the mass of pillows that are stacked against it, and the comforter puts the one Richter had slept on to shame. He finds himself wanting to crawl into the center of it and curl in upon himself. Alucard seems to catch wind of his thoughts, for he wastes no time with crossing the offered space of the room to part the canopy and lower Richter onto it's soft sheets.

The hunter is both conflicted and thankful for the way Alucard is gentle with him, treating Richter's body as if it were suddenly made of glass. Despite his pride screaming at him to defend itself, he instead feels the promise of sleep luring him in deeper. His eyes grow unbearably heavy, and the feeling of his arms and legs is akin to blocks of iron. He spares a half-lidded glance up at the vampire, who seats himself on the edge of the bed between the parted canopy, his features suddenly so unbearably beautiful, that Richter almost finds himself looking away.

Instead, Richter's voice is slow, a slurred mumble as he regards the other with burning eyes, "Am I safe?"

Alucard gives a faint incline of his head, his gold eyes glinting mysteriously in the low light. "You are safer here than anywhere else in the castle. No monsters will find their way inside." Despite his sudden lack of strength, Richter still tenses when the other leans over his prone form, the curtains of Alucard's hair dragging slowly and sinuously across the thick comforter. He feels the weight of a cold hand settle against his cheek, the tips of the vampire's nails trailing without threat against his temple. Alucard's voice has lowered into a soft whisper, and Richter finds his body relaxing once more under the smooth sound of it. His eyes remain fixed upon the vampire's face, mesmerized by the flawlessness of his skin and the shadows of his sharp features against the torchlight. "Sleep, now. We will speak later."

It seems as if the world goes black at that, and Richter falls into a slumber so deep, that not even his nightmares can reach him.

* * *

"My sins of excess prove to me that I exist."

There's no telling how long he sleeps. Richter barely stirs, does not remember anything past Alucard's lulling words, but when he awakes, he has obviously been moved to the center of the bed. He knows this, because the canopy's parting has been closed, and even if he stretches out as far as he can, he doesn't find the edge of the bed.

So he stares up at the ceiling, where the canopy cascades from a single point, spilling dark, crimson fabric over the frame of the bed, until it pools at the floor in heavy folds. It's even darker inside the canopy, but Richter can see the faint glow of candles emanating a halo of gold through the sheets. He finds the sight of it comforting, and takes a moment to appreciate how good it feels to not be fighting or constantly peering over his shoulder for monsters.

For a moment, he forgets about everything that had happened to him, and simply lies there, content to revel in the warmth and softness of the covers that he doesn't remember crawling under. As he shifts, he notices that he feels considerably lighter, and upon running his hands over his chest, he finds that his coat and all the attaching belts are gone. The only fabric he feels is the white button up that seems to be undone halfway, and the similar kerchief tied around his neck. His feet are bare as well, his boots having been removed unbeknownst to him.

Richter knows of only one person who could have removed his clothing, and the thought of the other man guiding his arms out of his jacket and gingerly pulling off his shoes inspires a combination of unease and appreciation in him. Alucard must have been deft with his hands, to have not only stripped Richter of his most heavy garments, but also roll him to the center of the bed. His fingers grip at the edge of the covers, and he realizes that Alucard must have even tucked him under them. Richter feels his face heat somewhat, and touches at his reddened cheeks with his fingers.

He doesn't have much time to stew in his embarrassment, because he soon makes out the sound of incredibly soft footsteps thudding across the floor. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, and watches warily as a dark figure makes their way around the canopy and stops before the closed parting. Richter reaches down for his weapon, but nearly feels his heart skip a beat when he doesn't feel the whip coiled against his side. His hands roam over his person, but all of his gear has been seemingly removed. So he waits with bated breath for the canopy to be drawn back, his hands fisted together over his lap.

The pale, bared hand that crawls inside the canopy pulls back the curtain enclosing Richter inside, and the face that greets him is both unexpected and familiar. Alucard stares back at him, drawing his gloveless hand back to rejoin the other that holds the stem of a filled wine glass. Richter's eyes drag down from the vampire's face to settle on the liquid hosted inside it, the dark red substance glinting like rubies in the candlelight. He feels his hair stand on end as a grimace passes over his face, and he actively recoils from it.

There's a soft huff of breath from Alucard, before he's holding the wine glass out, its thin stem cradled between two fingers. "I assure you, this is simply red wine. It's meant for you, specifically."

Richter eyes the glass before reaching out for it with slow movements, his eyes redirecting back to Alucard's neutral face. He allows his fingers to wrap around the thin glass stem, and pulls it from Alucard's grip as he draws it towards his lips. He barely sips enough at it to get a taste, but indeed, it is only red wine, and the tart sweetness of it is heavenly on his dry throat. Richter is suddenly aware of how dehydrated he is, and it takes all of his willpower not to drain the glass completely in one go.

Instead, he parts his sips with words, "Thank you. It's much appreciated."

"I thought you would need it. If not for your thirst, then for other things." Alucard remains sitting at the edge of the bed, his snow white hands gathered upon themselves in his lap. His eyes remain unmoving, studying Richter with rapt attention. "I will arrange for food to be brought later. I understand you must be hungry."

The mention of food has hunger pangs building in Richter's stomach, and he nearly bemoans his sudden craving for it, "I hadn't realized how long it'd been since I last ate. I'm actually starving." He drains a good portion of the wine on his next sip, and the grateful sigh that passes by his lips is long winded. "I'm surprised you keep anything here for humans. You seem to speak so lowly of us every time you get the chance to."

There's an amused noise slipping past Alucard at that, and his arms come to cross over his chest as he averts his gaze, "The castle is constantly inviting curious outsiders in. Do you not think that humans are often among them?" Richter hasn't ever thought about it, but considering how intriguing the castle is, it's not surprising how much attention its presence can invoke. "There are plenty of beings here that enjoy playing the role of hospitable host to their prey. It typically only serves as a prelude to the feast , however."

That inspires pause in Richter, who stares down at the quickly emptying wine glass with widened eyes. His eyes study the crimson liquid, noting how it clings to the glass in viscous layers. "Is this… one of those games?"

How cruel would it be for Alucard to treat him so well, only for it to turn out to be a cleverly constructed ruse? Was the wine he drank drugged with something terrible? Did the vampire strip him of his weapons to render him useless? Richter finds himself unable to drain the rest of the glass, and he hands it back to Alucard with trembling fingers, feeling like a caged animal inside the canopy.

Alucard eyes the glass for a moment, but takes it nonetheless. He spares the remaining wine a pensive look, before tipping the glass against his lips and finishing it off. For some reason, the sight has Richter's lips parting, his expression morphing into one of mesmerized surprise. It's quickly soured by the realization that Alucard hasn't given him an immediate answer. Once more, he finds himself stilling on the bed, his fingers curling into the sheets tensely as he stares down the other man.

"This is me gifting you a small mercy. You are free to take it, or you can wander back into the depths of the castle, chasing after the ghost of a lady who no longer lives. I'm not holding you here against your will."

The mention of Annette has Richter flinching, and it's as if Alucard has sank a dagger straight into his heart. He even doubles over, his hands crawling to his chest, where the constant reminder of his failure burns away at him. Alucard studies his sudden shift with cold eyes. "I can't allow her to live like this. Not at his side, as a pawn in his games."

"Then kill her quickly and leave. If you're looking for something to reap from this situation, you will find nothing." Alucard props a single leg against the edge of the bed, the sole of his heeled boot hanging off of the sheets. "My father delights in seeing you grovel, Belmont. You're only feeding him more amusement by remaining here."

"I didn't come for Annette alone. You know I must kill him as well." Even as he says it, Richter can feel the exhaustion in his voice, a weariness that seems to be growing more and more permanent as time drags on.

"Can you?" Alucard chances, his brow raising with skepticism. "You falter at the sight of me kicking your dead lady away. What will you do when my father stands at her side? If you take a moment to grieve in your fight against him, it will spell your doom." A moment of silence passes, before Alucard quickly tacks on. "If you even make it that far. There are still other things that would love to have you for themselves."

"Are you one of them? Is that what your involvement in all this details? Because you don't seem to want to take any sides here. Who is to say that you're not just serving yourself?" Richter tries his best to harden his tone, and he levels Alucard with an accusatory glare.

Alucard simply narrows his eyes at him. "I always serve myself, Belmont. You should be happy that I do. Lest, your journey would not have been as long as it is right now."

The idle threat makes Richter bristle, and if it weren't for the fact that his weapons were gone, and Alucard wasn't as terrifying strong as he is, he would have struck out at the other. But Richter is not a complete fool, so he swallows his anger bitterly. "Your generosity is baffling. You consistently treat me like a thorn in your side, and constantly make mention of how loathsome humans can be. What the hell do you gain from helping me?"

There is no response from Alucard, at least not immediately. Instead, he sets the wine glass aside on a table lingering outside of the canopy. As he does, he motions for Richter to follow, and slips from his sitting position on the edge of the bed. With heavy reluctance, the hunter obliges, though he only scoots far enough to throw his legs over the side of the bed. Alucard stands before him now, towering over him in all his regal splendor, his molten eyes once again soft. The look in them makes Richter's heart pound harder in his chest, and he hopes dearly that the other doesn't notice.

"Do you like roses, Belmont?" He asks, and the question is so out of left field, that Richter has to do a double take to make sure he heard him correctly. Despite his obvious balking, Alucard continues as if nothing were amiss. "My mother… she loved roses. She often tampered with them outside of her work, and her love for them inspired my father to fill certain areas of the castle with them. Her favorites were the pink roses, and so often do I remember her standing out in the garden amongst them, that I barely associate her presence with anywhere else."

Richter is drawn back to the enchanted opening nestled in the lower reaches of the castle. The circle of willow trees and pink roses floods his mind, and with it, the memory of first meeting Alucard, swathed in the shadows and alluring with his unusual, bright eyes. He feels himself calming somewhat at the unexpected words offered by the vampire, and chooses to listen quietly and respectfully as he continues with his tangent.

"And as much as I often found her nursing wounds from their sharp thorns, she refused to stop toiling amongst them. I grew so used to the scars that adorned her hands. She loved them so much…"

Richter knows not of what Alucard is trying to get out, but the sudden vulnerability in the other's tone is jarring, yet humbling. He didn't think it possible for the vampire to display any sort of affection, but when he speaks of his mother, it's as though Alucard makes the sudden shift from monster to human. If not for the ethereal beauty and the small showing of fangs Richter can spy when he speaks, he'd almost believe the other man to be normal.

"If baffled me. How could my mother host so much love for something that would rather hurt her in order to keep her away?" His golden eyes avert elsewhere, to something far beyond the reaches of the room they lingered in.

It's only for a moment, but Richter can see the passing on emotions on the other's face, some of which host more feeling than others; anger and heartbreak are chief among them. As soon as they've came, the emotions are gone, and if he weren't so sure he'd seen them, Richter would have thought he hallucinated the entire thing. Alucard's tone grows harder, colder, and it's here Richter can sense that the other's sudden pensiveness is deep rooted and ancient.

"That was always her problem. She offered love to those who didn't deserve it, and what did it reward her with in the end?" Alucard turns away quickly, the movement nearly startling a jump out of Richter. He sees the other's shoulders sag, and the sound of a forlorn sigh tells him why. "Humans are… you lot can't see the forest through the trees. Always looking for a martyr, or a symbol of your agenda. It… it disgusts me."

"I…" What can he say? For as much as his family has served the Church, Richter is all too aware of what Alucard speaks of. He vividly remembers reading of Trevor's recounts, of feeling himself pale as the words of the Church' betrayal crossed his eyes. Indeed, he knows of how fickle humankind can be. The talk of martyrs and social symbols is not lost to Richter. But at the same time, he can't condone Alucard's hatred of them either, for then what separates him from his father in that case? Spite? Or… was there something else stowed away in the other's heart, preventing him from completely turning his back on the beings that he looked upon with such a vicious sneer?

"I've spoken too much." Alucard suddenly murmurs, and his voice trails off softly, losing the snarl that tainted it before.

"Your mother," Richter finds himself starting, and the way that Alucard tenses doesn't escape his attention. "She was a human, correct? She must have been. I've never heard of vampires being able to produce offspring with each other."

"She was."

Richter wishes to take a moment to marvel at the confirmation. Dhampir, then. He'd read of them before, but never did he ever entertain the idea of their existence. Such a union between a human and vampire seemed damn near impossible to him. He'd always thought that blood was the only thing that they'd ever sought. And even then, the fact that it was a willing union makes his mind want to spin in circles. "She didn't die of natural causes. Nor did your father ever turn her after your birth. Someone took her out of your life."

"...Yes."

"It was us, wasn't it?" Richter speaks not of his family, and Alucard recognizes what he means. He barely sees the stiff nod that the vampire -dhampir - offers him behind the collar of his cloak. "Is that why you despise us? Because we take one thing, so that justifies toying with whatever humans enter this castle?"

Alucard's body goes deathly still at that, and Richter finds himself wishing he could stuff the words back into his mouth. "Do not test me, Belmont."

Despite his instincts screaming otherwise, Richter can't fight against the sudden wave of irritation he feels at the other. Alucard's hatred of humanity suddenly seems so petty to him, almost childish with his aspirations. The bloodshed he knows the other must be responsible for is suddenly so much more reprehensible. Heat builds in Richter's hands, and he quickly comes to stand from the bed. His hand shoots out, grasps tightly at Alucard's shoulder, and attempts to spin the dhampir to face him. Alucard doesn't budge beneath the force in the slightest, and it only inspires more anger on Richter's behalf.

"Then you're really no different from your father then! The same fucking monster, just twisted in a different way! You talk so much about your mother loving and respecting those who'd wish to hurt her, but can't afford the same thing on your own behalf?" Richter grits his teeth, his next words a low growl in his throat. "You're more selfish than I thought."

"Enough!" Alucard turns with enough force to send his cape fluttering about him, and his hand is a cold force against Richter's neck. The hunter can feel the tips of his nails threatening to slice into his skin at the slightest increase of pressure, but that isn't the thing that gains the majority of his attention. Alucard's face is twisted in such a way that for a moment, it actually dampens his otherworldly beauty. His lips curl back into a scornful snarl, his fangs tipping over his bottom one. His brows are furrowed so deeply, that it paints sharp dimples near his eyes.

Richter finds himself grasping at Alucard's bared wrist, feeling himself being pushed back until the back of his knees meet the edge of the bed. He's toppling back onto it then, and the dhampir follows him down, his weight purposely pinning Richter. A clawed hand comes to rest beside Richter's head, and he can hear the tearing of fabric underneath it. He's certain his skin wouldn't fare much better, and the nervous lump in his throat is hard to swallow around with Alucard's fingers wrapped about it.

Alucard glowers at him with narrowed eyes, and his burning irises make Richter feel as if they're pieces of hot coal, melting their way through him. And yet, still, he tries to protest, still feels the sting of anger urging him on. "Tell me it isn't the truth." Richter hisses lowly. "I haven't even met your mother, but I know she wouldn't have wanted you to do this."

"You know nothing ." Alucard growls at him, and he lingers so close to his neck, that Richter finds himself trying to turn away, but to no avail.

Instead, he grasps at the other's arm tightly, defiantly. "I know more than you think. Stop believing yourself to be so special. There are plenty of others who've suffered the same, if not worse, losses. But they move on, and they don't let their hatred consume them whole like you have!"

"Your hypocrisy is vile." Alucard's grip tightens about his throat, and Richter can feel the first bits of air refusing to go past it. "Here lies the man who felt as if the world should stop because his betrothed was taken by his enemy. Tell me, Belmont, what separates your disdain for my kind from my own for yours?"

"Humans don't prey on others the way you do."

"Humans are just as susceptible to the same evils!" Richter feels his heart stutter at the way Alucard's voice raises. It's so unlike the dhampir to be nearly shouting like he is. "They murder, and they torture, and they rape, and they derive the same twisted pleasures from it. They lure others into unsuspecting traps, wage wars for senseless ideals, and believe their killing to be of a higher order when it clearly isn't. They are no different from the monsters you hate!" There's a shellshocked moment where all he can do is stare up at the other, his eyes widened and his face drained of its angry edge. He can feel a slight tremble to the hand that presses at his throat, and it's enough to chase away Richter's desire to argue with Alucard. Because…

The man is obviously still hurt. Whatever happened and however long ago it happened still resonates freshly with him, and the wound is as gaping and raw as the day it'd transpired. Richter feels remorse flood through him, and it must reflect on his face, because Alucard soon lifts his hand away, and the fury seems to melt off of his delicate face. The dhampir's own breathing has gone ragged, labored with frustration, and he's content to simply sit atop Richter as he regains his composure. As the seconds pass by, Richter can see the violent lines of his body leaving him, and the relief at the other's willingness to drop their disagreement is silently appreciated.

When he refocuses his gaze upon Richter, the hunter can make out an almost apologetic edge to them. Alucard allows his hand to reach forward, and for a frightening moment, Richter is certain that he's going to try and strangle him again. But when those cold fingers meet the side of his neck, it's with a soothing sort of gentleness to them, like the reassuring brush of a lover's hand. Richter finds his breath freezing in his lungs, and he feels something foreign and terrifyingly taboo course through him at the tender touch.

After all, he should not be feeling sudden affection for the creature that had just threatened him with its claws just seconds earlier. But he does, and he blames it on the palpable sorrow that comes off Alucard in waves. The emotion seems to sink into Richter's own skin, and that alone is enough to give him pause. If it'd been the night before, Richter would have smashed his fist into the other's face with a sardonic laugh, but tonight? He feels for Alucard's plight, for his loss, because Richter's own still burns freshly inside his heart, still aches with a rawness that he wouldn't wish on anyone. He can't bring himself to hate the dhampir, as justified as the emotion may be. Instead, all he feels is the desire to reach up and cup the other's face, to give him a silent prayer that everything will be alright… as broken as the both of them are right now, and despite how much of a lie Richter believes it to be.

If his ancestors knew of the thoughts that lingered in his mind, they'd be rolling over in their graves.

He dares not to move when Alucard leans forward. His weight, though light, is icy against Richter's quickly warming body, and the way the dhampir's other hand splays against his chest as he pins him makes the hunter draw in a shuddered breath. The wrongness of Alucard's actions settles in the back of his mind, but Richter is so starved for any sort of genuinely loving touch, that he can't bring himself to care. There lies the warning that he's walking willingly into the dhampir's trap, but given how utterly exhausted Richter is of everything, it matters not to him.

He's content to lie back as the creature above him draws closer, his muted breaths just as cool as the rest of him, and sweet on Richter's face. He quickly becomes aware of how their bodies are pressed together now; chest to chest, legs to thigh, sinking into the fluffy comforter on the bed like quicksand. Richter feels both trepidation and desire course through him at the proximity, and his eyes eagerly drink in all the delicate and beautiful details of the man above him. For once, he finds himself able to stare at the other's face without feeling the urge to tear his gaze away, and the ethereal features are just as captivating as they'd been the first time he and Alucard met.

Courage finds Richter in the form of him lifting his hands to cradle that face between them, and the smoothness of it encourages him to splay his fingers, to touch at both temple and lips. Alucard's eyes briefly flutter shut at the touch, and Richter can feel him leaning into his hands, drinking the very warmth from his skin. Then they're opening once more, slowly, half lidded, and full of something smoldering and tinged with darkness. His pulse jumps at the look, and Richter feels additional warmth pooling low in his stomach, stirring to life the first twinges of arousal.

He's both horrified at himself, yet undeniably attracted to the man pinning him. He's not sure if he should drop to his knees and pray for penance on behalf of his infidelity and sodomy, or wrap his legs about the other and draw him in for a hungry kiss.

Alucard doesn't seem to want to wait, and he lowers himself further, his head tilting and lips parting ever so slightly - just enough to capture Richter's own. And he nearly does, but then Richter is turning his head and covering the dhampir's mouth with his own hands. He feels the other go deathly still at his refusal of his kiss, and Richter clenches his teeth in a desperate attempt to hold back a sob at himself. His being is twisted with both selfish want and personal betrayal, and he can't tell which feeling is more powerful between the two. All he knows is that he can't allow Alucard to kiss him, for if he does… he'll lose himself in something terrible, and there will truly be nothing left between him and Annette to salvage.

And, of course, what sort of Belmont would he be to lie with his enemy? And a man, no less? He'd have to live with God's scorn for the rest of his life. There would be no salvation for his tortured soul.

Still, he feels Alucard press at his hand, his pale fingers coming to wrap around Richter's wrist as he peels it away. Richter barely manages to hold his voice steady as he tries to object, though his tone is painfully weak, "I can't, I- I can't. Annette. Good God, I could not live with myself- I… you are a man, and a monster at that. It would condemn me to-"

" Richter ," Alucard whispers, and the first utterance of the hunter's name on his lips stuns him into silence.

Despite the way his head is turned, Alucard seems content to lower his lips to Richter's collarbone, and the cold press of his mouth nearly has the hunter hissing out a pleased moan. Richter can feel Alucard's hands untying the white kerchief around his neck, and when it finally falls away from his skin, Alucard's lips begin an upwards ascent, until they're sliding softly over his jugular, and leaving damp, glistening trails against his pulse point. Richter shudders once more, and it wracks his entire body with a sharp line of desire. The feeling of arousal singing hotly in his veins makes him want to slap himself across the face, to do something drastic enough to knock some sense into himself.

He should be revolted by Alucard's touch, should fear it like he fear's the man's teeth and claws, but instead he craves it like the sweet tang of wine, like an alcoholic would after a lengthy drought. Richter's hands soon find the dhampir's shoulders, and they dig into them at the first instance of teeth against his neck, though their press isn't nearly hard enough to send his fangs plunging in. There's a hand trailing to his hip, the tell-tale drag of sharp nails against his clothing, before Richter feels it wrapping around his thigh and guiding it around Alucard's waist. He doesn't fight it, and instead is too eager to hitch it around the dhampir and pull him tightly against him. The sudden pressure against his front has Richter biting back a wanton breath, though Alucard seems to sense his growing need, for he soons pulls away and catches Richter's ashamed expression with his dark gaze.

Despite it all, despite his willingness to let the other ravage him mercilessly, Richter still finds himself biting out a series of weak protests. "This… this is wrong. Please, Alucard, don't lead me down-"

"You're willingly following me, Richter." The dhampir's mouth has fixated on the curve of his jaw, and his words are a patient whisper against his flushed skin. "Stop me, if you must. But don't posture if you have no intent of acting upon your words."

He really doesn't want to, finds himself casting away his worries with each kiss laid upon his skin. Richter feels himself growing impatient with the way Alucard avoids his lips, the horror of his actions quickly being buried beneath a wave of want. The only thing that lingers in the back of his mind is Annette's face, the expression upon it twisted with disgust and pain. Richter nearly develops the courage to push Alucard away at it, but all he manages is a pathetic whimper of her name. "Annette…"

"Hush," Alucard chastises him, and though he's sure he means well with his words, it still doesn't remove the cold edge to them. "Annette is lost to you, Richter. There is no changing that."

"I'm tarnishing our love, I'm doing her soul a disservice, I-"

" Richter ," Alucard murmurs once more, though his tone is firmer. He raises enough to placate the hunter with a compassionate look, one that Richter finds himself unable to look away from. Alucard studies him for a short while, his eyes flitting over Richter's face, before he's releasing a soft sigh, "You can't take your mind off of her, can you? Despite everything I've said, you still mourn for something you cannot save."

Alucard's hand finds its way to Richter's jaw, and he holds the other steady as it strokes a soothing rhythm against his heated skin. Richter's eyes close upon feeling the cold fingers dancing over his flesh, can't deny how they seem to chase away the fever of his worries. He does not open his eyes out of fear of inviting his panic back, and swallows past the thickness of his throat when he feels Alucard's breath lingering dangerously close to his lips.

When the other man speaks, his voice has somehow dipped lower, is steeped in seduction and sultry tones hot enough to make Richter's nether's throb with their tempting promise, "I will make you forget her, Richter. I can promise you that."

Alucard is claiming him with a kiss then, and Richter doesn't even have the option to turn away, for the man's hands hold his face between them. It doesn't matter in the end, because Richter is so swept away by the feel of it that his lips are parting with a sharp intake of air, and it's there that he feels the damp press of Alucard's tongue trailing over his them and into his mouth. It tastes sharply of iron and ice, but it's nowhere near unpleasant, and the way the dhampir licks eagerly at his mouth flames the arousal in Richter's groin. He feels the need to squeeze his legs together, to lessen the aching that exists between them, but Alucard is planted firmly against him, and they only succeed in hugging him closer.

His lips are tugged and laced with bites that nearly rip through them, but not once does Alucard break his skin. He leaves them swollen and aching, and damp with the sensuality of his mouth. Richter nearly whines when he feels the other trailing away from his lips, but is silently thankful when he feels Alucard refocus his efforts upon his neck and the junction where it meets his shoulder. The dhampir leaves a series of pinpoint bruises upon his skin, litters Richter's collarbone with loving bites that border on outright painful. Richter finds himself lifting his hips off the bed, seeking whatever friction he can find as his body thrums with aches of pleasure, and Alucard seems to happy to give him a hip to rut against.

As he takes to rubbing himself against the other's thigh, he feels the man sinking lower, his fingers deftly pulling free the buttons of his shirt to further expose his chest. Richter nearly jumps when he feels a cool tongue lathing over a nipple, and while the feeling is a bit foreign to him, it's undeniable how it makes his cock twitch. Alucard's attentions to his chest are slow and patient, and he takes his sweet time with teasing the nub into hardness with his lips and tongue. Richter's breath grows shorter and more rushed as the seconds pass, and one of his hands comes to tangle within the curtain of waving, platinum hair that spills down Alucard's back. Even in the heat of the moment, Richter is coherent enough to appreciate how soft the tresses are, and revels in the way the strands slide without tangles through his fingers. He doesn't tug or pull at Alucard's hair, but instead cards his fingers through the tresses with the utmost care, showing him his appreciation for the doting motions.

And if that wasn't enough to show him his pleasure, then Richter's lust heavy whispers and moans certainly did. " Oh , dear fucking God…" He nearly finds himself dissolving into a series of trembles once he feels Alucard shift his attention to the other side. It has Richter rutting steadily against the other's thigh, teasing himself into a state of delirious pleasure. His head presses back against the sheets, his eyes screwing shut momentarily as his mouth falls open on his pants

Richter is barely aware of the way Alucard's hand grasps at his left wrist, his thumb running along the tender underside of it where the veins branch like a spider's web. So caught up is he in his own pleasure, that he neglects to feel him bringing it closer to himself, and it's only when he feels that wonderful mouth leave his chest that he catches on. Even then, the sudden pain that burns through his wrist comes as a jolting shock for him, and Richter's entire body tenses as he feels Alucard's fang digging deep into his flesh.

His eyes fly open and he's propping himself up on his shoulder to stare down at the other man, but as soon as Richter's eyes find him, the pain is suddenly shifting to something else entirely. His mouth parts on a protest, but all that escapes him is a desperate keening noise, and Richter once again finds himself collapsing against the bed as carnal pleasure courses through him. All the sensations plaguing his body seem to multiply from the bite, and it becomes nearly impossible for Richter to keep himself quiet. Alucard's mouth doesn't even linger for long by his wrist, and through the pleasant numbness, Richter can feel him pulling his fangs free of his skin.

Richter peeks through his lashes to find the dhampir licking at his reddened lips, chasing away the sanguine nectar that paints them with life. The image should be considered ghastly to him, a testament of Alucard's true nature, but it only serves to make him ache harder. Richter raises the wounded arm and reaches for Alucard through his ecstasy, and his hand finds a few hanging strands of hair. He's grasping them and pulling the other down gently, leading Alucard back to his mouth, and the dhampir only seems too happy to swallow his moans. The taste of iron is even more pervasive now, but Richter discovers that it doesn't bother him in the least.

As Alucard plants a series of wet, cool kisses against him, his voice is also whispering out a line of praises, "You are as sweet as you smell, Richter. I could lose myself completely to the taste of you. You've no idea what your blood does to me." Richter feels the other dragging his tongue from his bottom lip to his top, and his mouth chases the taste of it eagerly. "I could drink you for days ." Alucard murmurs against his lips, and the kiss that follows is the hungriest yet.

Richter cannot keep the teasing retort from leaving his lips. "I bet you'd like to bleed me over a wine glass."

There's a deep chuckle resonating from Alucard at that, and he draws back enough to fix Richter with a dark smile. "You are giving me ideas, dear hunter. That's a dangerous thing to do." The feel of Alucard's hand slipping down his body to press between his legs has Richter breathing out a sharp moan, his eyes fluttering shut from the teasing touch. "You should be content to let me have your body instead. At least then, I won't have to fear accidentally killing you."

"And how would you have me?" Richter finds himself asking breathlessly. While typically shielding himself from ever having had the thought, he's also not a fool to how men copulate with each other, and the answer he thinks Alucard will give him inspires the faintest stirrings of nervousness inside him.

"I cannot give you an answer for that, but I know how I want you to have me." Alucard's tone carries with it the insinuation of something wicked. Richter recognizes what his words mean, and while relief courses through him, there's also the fear of being the one to take Alucard instead.

"Forgive me for assuming otherwise. You've been so predatory thus far. I believed you would have wanted it the other way."

"Predatory," Alucard huffs out in amusement. "You've not yet seen the full extent of my possessiveness, Richter. I could leave you riddled with bite marks as a physical statement, if I didn't fear you passing out on me."

"You've sullied my wrist. What other places besides my neck could you claim?" He knows not why he asks, but the answer Alucard gives him makes his heart leap into his throat.

The fingers rubbing at him through his clothing stray to the inside of his thigh, and Richter can feel Alucard trailing them in tantalizing circles there. "I know of a few sweet spots."

Richter brings his forearm to lay across his forehead, and the breath that hisses past his lips is almost exasperated, "I'm learning a number of things that I shouldn't be." He doesn't have long to lament the wrongness of what he's hearing, for Alucard quickly returns his ministrations to his clothed cock. Richter bites hard at his bottom lip to try and muffle the noise of surprise that builds in his throat.

He feels cold fingers returning to the buttons upon his shirt. Alucard's hands are quick to finish what they started, and when the buttons are free, the other leans forward to mouth a series of kisses that trail down the tender flesh of Richter's stomach. The coldness of his lips makes his skin prickle with goosebumps, and the contrast of their icy softness pressed against the heat of his skin is both sobering and terribly distracting.

He doesn't allow his mind to ponder the act of Alucard stripping him of his clothes. Richter tries to purposely cloud his mind with menial thoughts as the other makes patient work of his trousers. Barely, he can feel his mind trying to linger back to Annette, and he fights down the urge with intense guilt, chases away the oncoming image by focusing on the apex of the canopy above them.

Richter's mouth goes dry as the seconds tick by, and his arms remain unmoving and lifeless as they're strewn by his head. The culpability of the situation continues to creep up on him, and he's not sure if it makes his heart beat harder, or the cool air upon his suddenly naked legs does. Alucard's physical presence is a constant throughout his sour reverie, and no matter how hard Richter tries to think past it, his frigid hands are impossible to ignore.

It only grows worse when he feels a cool tongue lapping at the head of his cock, and then he's quite literally forced to react, and it's with an amalgamation of blatant horror and sharp pleasure. Richter's hands fist into the sheets below him, and he lurches somewhat, though comes to freeze once he realizes how dangerous the movement is.

There should not be a pair of fangs so close to his nethers. The danger of their proximity makes his blood run cold, but also sends masochistic arousal throbbing hotly through him, and it makes him feel feverish. His voice is unsteady and meek as he bites out a desperate plea, "Please, God, do not accidentally bite me."

"Do you think me so careless?" Alucard retorts softy, and the small pause he offers is quickly retracted once he returns to running his tongue along the hunter's straining member. Richter finds himself going taut at the feel of something cool and wet dragging from the base to the swollen head.

His fingers itch with the need to wrap about the dhampir's fine hair. He chooses not to relent, and instead grabs almost wildly at his own hair, his fingers tugging his strands as he tries not to spare a glance down. The desire is impossible to ignore, however, and Richter finds himself once again leaning up just enough to spy Alucard mouthing slowly along his length, his lips applying gentle, damp suction that has Richter shuddering beneath their attention.

Richter is amazed to find that, even while performing something so deviant, Alucard is still somehow the picture of elegance and beauty. Despite his kisses, he's not messy with the way his tongue lathes patiently and sensually at Richter's cock, and though the pace is nearly torturous, it's still no less amazing than it should be.

He never brings the swollen member into his mouth, but Richter can appreciate why. The last thing he needed to supplement his humiliation was a gash upon the most sensitive part of his body. Still, Alucard doesn't seem to need to, because his mouth is wonderfully skilled at teasing him to painful hardness regardless. His tongue is criminally good with its precise drags, and his lips smother the bulbous head of his cock with cool, wet laps and kisses. When the first drips of precum begin to bead thickly, Alucard is only too eager to swipe them away with his tongue.

Despite the unconventionality of it all, Richter finds himself being drawn closer and closer to his release. It takes longer than it should, considering the handicap presented to the dhampir, but the drawn out length only makes Richter better appreciate the slow build of pleasure that has him nearly arching off the bed. It becomes impossible for him to keep his hips completely still, but Alucard eagerly follows all of his movements, and is careful to keep his sharp teeth away from his skin.

His quickened breaths have turned to short, quick moans, and Richter swears that the next lap of Alucard's tongue will send him careening over the edge. Yet, each time his breath hitches with the promise of release, he finds that the other decreases the amount of attention to his throbbing member, only to resume mouthing and dragging his tongue along it once Richter's body calms somewhat.

It nearly has him sobbing out a plea to finish. Richter feels something else burning inside him at the need, and he's certain that it's mortification.

Alucard never gives him what he wants. Instead, he's almost desolate when he feels the other draw away completely. Richter's hands are reaching for him again at that, and his hips chase some sort of friction desperately. "Why- Why did you stop?"

His hands find the edge of Alucard's cloak, but they're quickly falling away when the other undoes the silver clasps holding the item over his shoulders. Richter catches the edge of the fabric and tosses it haphazardly across the bed, not minding where it lands. Without thinking, he's soon sitting up against the dhampir, his hands hungrily undoing the other clasps and belts that hold his regal attire together.

Alucard's body is just as pale as his face, and Richter can make out the faint sight of blue and violet veins spidering their way across his skin. For a moment, his painful arousal is completely forgotten in lieu of letting his hands wander, touching curiously at the prominent vessels that trail him like fine thread. Alucard seems content to let him satisfy his curiosity, and his hands wander to Richter's hair, where they card almost lovingly through it.

"Do you find me unusual?" The dhampir asks quietly, his eyes closing against the feel of Richter's warm hands.

"Yes, but… it's not bad."

Indeed, it isn't. The otherworldliness of Alucard only lends to his beautiful mystique. Richter is absolutely captivated by the nuances of his body, and can't resist laying his lips upon the frostiness of his skin. He trails them along the veins that branch from Alucard's wrist to his forearm, to the ones that run from his sharp collarbones to just beneath his jaw, and the contented sigh that spills from the other is like a balm to Richter's ears.

It barely registers to him that the other is completely naked now, the detail completely forgotten in his curiosity. It's only when he feels Alucard's hand upon his member that he's reminded of the situation they're in. Richter's throat goes thick with sudden nervousness, his stomach twinging with the intensity of it.

Alucard picks up on the tenseness of his body. His hand presses gently, yet insistently at the hunter's chest, guiding Richter back down onto the sheets as he all but straddles his waist. His bright hair falls over his pale, sharp shoulders, their gentle waves spilling onto Richter's chest as he lets his hand smooth its way up to the hunter's neck.

Richter's eyes flit quickly around himself, unable to focus on just one thing, though the restlessness he felt in that moment probably lended to it. The only thing that helps calm his whirling mind is the sound of Alucard's smooth, gentle voice, "Try not to think too hard about it. In fact, don't try anything. Let me ."

All he can offer is a stiff nod, and Richter is more than content to simply lie there and close his eyes, blocking out all the images that were making his head spin. He feels a set of lips press at his temple, before dropping to line his jaw with their sweet, distracting motions. The feel of a cool hand wrapping around his cock nearly makes him jump, but Alucard merely supplements it with a series of kisses by Richter's ear, his quiet, soft breaths lending to the distraction.

He feels Alucard's weight leaving him briefly, and it's almost enough to make Richter want to open his eyes, but then he's feeling pressure sinking down around his cock, and the feeling of the sudden tightness he feels around his straining member is enough to make his head toss back into the sheets, his lips parting on a strained groan.

Richter's hands reach blindly for whatever they can find, and they must find Alucard's hips, because he can feel the sharp lines of his bones gliding against his fingers. For a moment, he's terribly distracted by the sounds emanating from Alucard, his breaths releasing in sharp, short huffs and his voice uttering out the smallest of whimpers.

And then that awful, burning desire is finding Richter once more, and he pulls those hips down, feeling the other sinking around him as he buries himself in the dhampir. Alucard's voice stutters on a surprised cry, and the moan that slips past his lips is both pained and needy. The feeling of the other's nails curling against his chest sends small lines of pain scattering across Richter's skin.

"Somehow still so… selfish…" Alucard hisses raggedly, though his tone suggests that he's not at all angry with Richter. In fact, the hunter can feel him rocking steadily against him, and the noises that spill past Alucard's lips suggests that he's far from angry.

Richter is only too happy to give him what he wants, and with each roll of Alucard's hips, he's pulling them against him and arching up against the dhampir. The first time he does so, he hears a sharp gasp tear from Alucard, and the noise soon dissolves into a shaky moan that trembles almost as much as Richter's hands do.

It's so much colder than what he's normally used to, and while the difference in temperature is incredibly foreign, the exoticness of it lends to Richter's arousal. His eyes remain adamantly closed, however, despite the way his hands guide Alucard. Though, even without them, he doubts there would be any stopping the way Alucard seems to take off. He's settled himself into a consistent, steady rhythm, no longer simply rolling against Richter, but instead raising himself high enough just shy of releasing the head of Richter's cock, only to impale himself once more.

The noises that spill from him then are unlike any Richter's mind could have conjured for the other man. It's a constant shift between trembling breaths and a series of moans that cut each other off depending on how he moves. Every once in awhile, he'll feel Alucard seize up above him, his voice and breathing catching on pure silence, only for the lines of tension to melt from the other man's body as he continues rolling against Richter's member, his panting making up for the brief lack of air.

It's almost as equally pleasing for Richter, and the way he can feel the other's passage hugging and inviting his cock in deeper nearly makes his head thrash from side to side. Instead, Richter allows unabated noises to escape him, casting his shame and modesty away in favor of voicing his absolute delight at the feel of the other. Sweat quickly beads at his hairline, and he can feel it pooling against the divuts of his collarbones as Alucard rides him, inviting him closer to the release he was denied earlier.

Despite his selfish wants, he still has some semblance of cordiality, and as his orgasm draws nearer, his hand blindly seeks out the dhampir's member. His fingers barely manage to wrap around it before he feels his hand being swatted away, and the refusal has Richter opening his eyes, despite his earlier conviction.

It was a grave mistake.

Not because he's horrified into silence, but instead because he's utterly transfixed by the sight of the dhampir above him, moving languidly along his cock, rising and falling with quick, brief bounces that makes Richter's thighs want to tremble. And if he doesn't, then Alucard certainly does, because the other's hands are like shaking leaves upon his chest, and his legs have a barely discernable shake to them as well.

It doesn't help when the other starts moaning his name. In fact, it makes Richter's heart slam against his chest, beating in time with the throbs of pleasure that stab at him unforgivingly. "Richter, Richter …. Oh, dear hunter, yes. Yes, yes… yes …" Alucard leans back, draws his hands away from Richter's chest and splays them across his stomach instead. His head falls back, the curtains of his long hair spilling down his spine and pooling against Richter's thighs.

Richter's hand slides to Alucard's thigh, while the other tugs hard at his hip, drawing him down onto his cock with jarring force. He feels the other shudder stiffly, though the noise it rips from his throat is what catches the hunter's attention. It's a sharp cry that's louder than any noise he's made yet, and it only inspires Richter to repeat the action.

It becomes less of Alucard sinking down onto him, and more of Richter thrusting up with lack of restraint. Suddenly the man above him is being visibly jostled by the added force, and he spies one of Alucard's hands straying to the bed, clenching tightly at the sheets until they're tearing beneath his nails. He bites at him bottom lip until the tips of his fangs are drawing forth small wells of crimson, and the sight of it slipping down Alucard's chin is both ghastly and enticing.

Richter has the sudden, terrible desire to rise up and lick the rivulets away. He's silently appalled at himself.

It does nothing to subtract from the need that consumes him, that begs him to fuck the dhampir senseless until one or both of them come. Richter's hands fumble for the man above him, and when they manage to grasp him by his forearms, they're yanking Alucard down, pulling him into a kiss that is unnecessarily violent. He gets in return what he gives, however, and for every painful tug of his teeth at Alucard's lips, he feels the same against his own.

It's not long before Richter can taste his own blood spilling into his mouth.

One of his hands draws a series of swollen lines up the dhampir's back while the other grasps tightly at his thigh, holding him steady as he fucks the other without pause, feels him shake and shudder and leak thickly against his stomach. When Alucard can't even find it in himself to return any semblance of a kiss, his mouth instead preoccupied with trying to bite off the sharp, loud moans that spill past it, Richter turns to biting dark bruises into his pale neck.

Still, Richter can feel the pleasure mounting, growing hotter and hotter, making his fingers and toes curl in upon themselves. He feels the first twitches of overstimulation finding him, and the growing sense of urgency that plagues him alerts him to the orgasm that lurks just around the corner. He fears that he will finish before Alucard at this trajectory, but then the other man is quite literally collapsing against him, and when he does, Richter can feel his entire body shaking against his own.

The dhampir's head is buried in the crook of his neck, and his voice is at first almost unbearably loud, his moans escalating into a crescendo that peaks on a single, drawn out noise of carnal pleasure. Then they're falling from their apex, quietening and growing lower as he rocks against Richter, who's yet to stop impaling him with his cock.

The hunter can feel the slick dampness splattered against in stomach in thick rivulets, can feel the sensual slide of it between their skin as he chases his own end, and finds it soon thereafter. Richter barely has enough time to experience the first stabbing waves of his orgasm before the feel of Alucard's mouth clamping over his neck is interrupting it with a sharp jolt of pain.

Even that is only briefly felt, because then it's melding seamlessly into the orgasm that sends Richter into a fit of trembles against the other, and the added sensation of the other mouthing hungrily at his neck makes his mind fizzle into completely static, his eyesight briefly flashing white before his eyes are fluttering closed. "Alucard, oh God, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes…"

There's no stopping the stream of praises that slips past his lips. Richter wraps his arms tightly around the dhampir's midsection, hugs him close with sudden and engulfing affection. He feels a sense of vertigo assault him at the feel of the other drawing in mouthfuls of his blood, but the dizziness only lends to the unbelievable high he feels in that moment.

Yet, even as the effects of his release begin to wear off, and the pleasure of the bite fades into a warm numbness, Richter can feel Alucard still mouthing greedily at his neck. His words are breathless as his hand curls into the other's hair and cradles the back of his head, "Alucard, enough… enough, please."

There is no pause from the dhampir. Richter feels something akin to ice float down his spine at the realization, and the hand that cradles Alucard head grips tightly at the strands of platinum hair nestled between his fingers. He tries to tug the dhampir away, but his efforts only earn him a low, vibrating growl. The dizziness making his vision spin slowly becomes insidious.

"Alucard!" Richter tries to cry out, but his voice has grown weak from the constant blood loss, and his body is pitifully numb from both his release and the exsanguination. With terrified, paralyzing numbness, he stares with wide eyes up at the canopy's ceiling, noting how the room seems to grow dimmer and dimmer.

He can only hear the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, and the low growls of pleasure that accompany the fangs inside his neck.

Richter isn't sure when he falls unconscious.


	6. Snip the Strings, One by One

**AN:** I'd say there's 2-3 chapters left in this story. So we're getting closer to the end!

* * *

"Now I'm lost inside the smog, choking on the shame."

Violent vertigo assaults him. Everything around him is spinning so fast that the colors - no matter how dark they are - blend into each other like paint. His vision swims, and the scenery before him rocks back and forth like a cradle, like a ship at sea in the midst of a hurricane. It makes his stomach churn uneasily, and he wants nothing more than to sit up at that very moment, but his limbs are dead, and he can't even manage to curl his fingers. He can't feel anything other than the faint throbbing of his head or the ghostly feeling of his organs spinning inside him.

Cold… He's so cold, too. The numbness is only matched by the iciness that seems to cling to his skin. His teeth nearly chatter, and if it were at all possible, his body would have been trembling violently. He feels as if he's been submerged in snow, buried deep in the ice to be forgotten about. There's more to the cold he feels, however. His side feels number and heavier than the rest of him, and a weight rests horizontally over his chest. His eyesight is too poor, though, not that he could make out what it was with the way his vision bounced and blurred uncontrollably. He can't even gather the strength to turn his head. He feels helplessly paralyzed.

Oh, he is so tired. Though his eyes flit about, trying to make sense of what has become of him, his body seems to succumb to another bout of unavoidable exhaustion. Fatigue threatens to drag him back under, to where he was before, and the terror of feeling his eyes begin to close against his will makes his heart hammer away in his chest. Despite the sudden adrenaline coursing through his veins and mingling with the ice, it's impossible for him to fight back against the darkness that claims him by force.

He's smothered into sleep again by the fatigue of his own body, and the dreams that find him are full of screams and hellfire.

* * *

When he finally awakes, it's with a short cry of terror, and he thrashes about in the bed, despite the weariness that clings to his entire body like a blanket. For a moment, he's convinced that the flames are still licking at his body with their unforgiving wisps, but then the coolness of the room is finding him, and he's wrapping his arms about himself, shivering almost violently.

Richter's eyes are blown wide, and they flit with panic around him, looking for the maw of a nameless beast or the blades that threaten to slice his skin clean from his bones. When it's clear that he's sitting on a bed and surrounded by nothing but a heavy, crimson canopy, he let's the tension drain from his shoulders. The small movement draws attention to the raw throb at his neck, and Richter's hand moves from his arm to touch at the tenderness he feels there. When it ghosts over the shape of two puncture wounds, he suddenly goes deathly still.

The memories flood his mind immediately, and the cold realization of what transpired last night inspires the smallest of whimpers to sound from his lips. Richter rests his hand against the bite wound, and shudders at his now apparent nakedness, feeling every bit as defiled as he is. His skin bristles with a dark sort of taint to it, and the weight of his sins threatens to flatten him with the guilt they entail. Richter's mouth has gone completely dry, and he spares a look to his side, where another body should be, but then the spot is mysteriously empty, and he's not sure if he should feel relieved or crestfallen.

He'd lain with Alucard. A man. No… not just a man, but a creature of the night at that. It puts his near tryst with the Succubus to shame. Richter feels as if the truth of it all could suck the very life out of him, for he feels so achingly empty in that moment, devoid of anything good or pure. He feels as if he's suddenly fallen from God's light, and whether or not it was true, it doesn't lessen the impact of him feeling disconnected from himself.

Why had he been so weak, last night? Could he truly have not said no to the other? Did his love for Annette not mean anything anymore? Was anything not sacred to his heart? Richter feels the deep sting of indignation, and the only way he can keep it from consuming him whole is to move, and distract his mind with something else. He scoots to the edge of the bed and parts the canopy, where the lone glow of a single, long-burning candle greets him, its wax dripping down the sides of its holder.

For a moment, he merely sits there, trying to calm the accusations that run through his mind. All he manages is to stare listlessly ahead, whilst his thoughts unfurled into a toxic, intelligible mess. He wants so desperately to be angrier at himself, to perhaps even hurt himself as a means of just punishment for his transgressions. But Richter feels so exhausted, both bodily and mentally. He feels so drained of energy, that the idea of even leaving this bed makes tears want to spring to his eyes. He knows he can't remain here, however, and it's not simply because both Annette and her cruel, new master still lived.

There was no way he could be here in the case that Alucard returned. Richter can't fathom existing in the same space as the other man right now, let alone existing in the same castle. He hasn't the slightest idea what he would do or say to the other, isn't sure if he would snap and try to murder the dhampir for his seduction, or collapse into his arms and beg for another night like the last.

For while Richter burns with shame and hates himself for his terrible sin, he silently misses the way the other could erase the troubles from his mind and replace it with the white hot flash of indescribable pleasure. Last night marked the first moment in what felt like days that he could exist without the crushing legacy of his family, or the guilt he felt for Annette's fate.

'I truly am selfish,' Richter thinks, his mouth spreading into a miserable smile. 'Perhaps Alucard knows me better than myself. But then again, I'm not exactly sure who the hell I am anymore.'

Richter peeks past the canopy to the bedside table, noting that Alucard had set the wine glass there last night. Upon seeing it, Richter notices a small tray balanced on its edge, piled with a fresh loaf of bread and sliced cheese, and several cuts of dried, cured meat. Immediately, his hands are shooting out for the tray and they pull it eagerly into his lap, where he's content to simply ogle at the food for a long while.

Hunger stabs at him in sharp, stinging waves, a reminder of how long it'd been since he last ate. Richter is tearing into the bread with his hands then, devouring the fresh grain with obscene noises of gratification. He barely spares enough time in between chews to add slices of the cheese and dried meats.

He quickly scarfs down the entire tray of food, and upon finishing, finds that some of his strength has returned. He still feels a slight bit of dizziness and fatigue, but considering the bite marks marring his wrist and neck, he notes that he has a good reason why. The thought of Alucard's refusal to stop last night makes the smallest bit of fear and betrayal stir in his gut. Richter smothers the feeling by searching the ruffled sheets for his clothing.

He finds his button down, trousers, and kerchief, and quickly sets to tying the latter around his neck, hiding away the evidence of his time with Alucard. Upon donning the other two items, he sets about searching for the rest of his gear, and finds it conveniently placed upon another table lining the wall outside the bed.

He dresses quickly, wastes no time with reattaching his gear and donning his boots. He does stop in the middle of pulling his coat back on to study himself in a vanity that rests in front of the bed, and the violet bruises that travel from his neck down to his collarbone make his expression twist into something along the lines of disappointment. Richter quickly finishes donning the rest of his gear to hide them away.

He spares the room a single, last glance, allows his eyes to drag over the beautiful canopy of the bed that holds so much of his compunction. Richter knows that remaining in this room means remaining safe, guarded from the horrors that lurked ahead. He's not a guileless fool, however, and knows that the safety it offers won't protect the rest of Wallachia from the sadistic clutches of Alucard's father.

He feels the faint twinges of regret resonate within him as he leaves it behind, and silently says a final goodbye to the man who'd brought him here in the first place. For he has no intention of ever speaking to him again.

* * *

"If I were your God, I would be pretty ashamed of you right now."

It didn't take long for Richter to find the area dwelling just below the throne room. He can see the area of interest hanging above him, its crimson staircase just barely peeking over the treacherous gaps that dot the castle. The rug hanging from the steps cascades down in tattered strips, a testament to both its age and the amount of steps that have been taken across it.

He did not, however, anticipate dealing with Shaft's bothersome taunting again, having thought Alucard to have scared the old man off for good. His tenacity was almost commendable, though, despite the dhampir's warning. Almost. He at least made good on his promise to return, though Richter wished he'd finally lost interest in him… whatever sick interest that was.

As things go, the hunter isn't in the best of moods, nor does he feel like the pinnacle of good health at the moment. Shadows mar his eyes, and his skin is a few shades paler than it should be, the exsanguination still affecting him somewhat. That's not even taking into account the feelings boiling inside of him, threatening to spill over at the smallest prodding. He'd done a semi-decent job at stowing them away for the past few hours, but this…

This was the last thing his fragile mind needed.

Richter adamantly tries to ignore the other's derisive comment, and allows his heavy feet to carry him across the roof of the castle's midsection. His eyes remain narrowed, his brows furrowed deeply and painting vivid creases with the intensity of his glare. He can feel his fingers tightening into fists as he walks, daring the other to continue with his words.

He should have expected no less from Shaft. "Not quite the holy man you pride yourself upon being. I wonder what your dear Annette would think, if she were still alive? Oh, how I wish she were, so I could tell her myself, perhaps even show her the evidence of your infidelity."

Richter's teeth come to mash against each other tightly, and the pressure of his enamels grinding makes his jaw almost hurt. His eyes screw shut briefly, and he sucks in an unsteady breath in an attempt to calm himself, though the heat settling beneath his skin only seems to burn hotter. He continues walking forward, though, still determined to not let the other's words rattle him.

"I must say, I am impressed. Of all the creatures that could have invited you into their bed, you chose the young master. I imagine his father won't be too happy to hear about that. Perhaps, after he kills you, he'll finally administer punishment to that bratty son of his for his betrayal." There's an echoing laugh filling his ears at that, and the wickedness in it makes Richter want to find the man and throttle him.

'No…' He thinks bitterly, his lips coming to purse tightly. 'To give any indication that I'm bothered will just be me playing directly into his game. I won't give him the satisfaction. Not this time.'

"What's wrong, Belmont? You seem a little pale tonight… Ah, is that it?" Another peal of deep laughter. Richter can feel his patience wearing thinner. "What an insatiable appetite! There'll be hardly anything left for my master to enjoy once he's done with you. A shame, really."

If he can just cross the clearing and find his way to the stairs, he can forgo listening to the mad blathering of the withered man in favor of actually fighting something! Every word wears upon him though, inspires his anger to flare hotter and his indignation to grow larger. Richter finds himself nearly shaking with the desire to put his hands upon something. It feels as if he might burst from his skin at any moment.

"Though, how rude would it be of me to let you barge in on my master and his new mistress? A couple deserves their privacy, do they not? Perhaps I will save him the trouble and take care of you myself."

"If you wish so badly to fight, then show your fucking face already!" Richter finally cries out, and he draws his whip, threatening the other to materialize. "I've wanted nothing more than to rid myself of you and your incessant fucking poking and prodding! I'd rather deal with an army of mindless creatures than listen to you ramble on like the damned fool you are!"

"Fool? Me?" Shaft asks incredulously, and the echoing of his voice seems to drop, and meld into a single wavelength. Richter follows the sound keenly, allowing his ears to guide him to wear he thinks it's coming from, and is pleased when he sees the ancient man materialize above him. "How very ironic of you to say, Belmont, considering I've spent the majority of my time watching this castle play you like a fine violin. It's almost pitiable, how much this place has hollowed you out. The prideful, honorable Richter Belmont, reduced to another wanton sinner. Oh, how I love the hypocrisy you spout."

The sound of the whip cracking is the only retort Richter offers, and it narrowly catches Shaft with its barbed tip. The dark priest instead floats away to a safe distance, his wrinkled features twisting with annoyance. Richter is quick to lash out against, closing the distance with another expert guiding of his whip. He applies a quick rebound to try and catch the other on his side, but Shaft has apparently learned from their first encounter, and quickly lowers himself so that it misses.

The surface of a sickly, green bubble seems to form around the dark priest, and it glows with something reminiscent of oil reflecting in the light. Richter, despite having reservations about what it may be, chances a strike at it, and finds that the tip of the whip bounces off of the surface as if it had struck a stone wall. He grits his teeth menacingly at the other, and yanks his whip back to his side.

"I knew you were a coward," Richter snarls at the priest, to which Shaft merely offers him a clever smile.

"I know better than to try and toil with you in a fight. But I have a beast willing to do so in my stead…"

Richter immediately tenses at that, and his eyes flit around the priest, waiting for him to summon the beast he spoke of. But the other remains floating above him in his sphere of invulnerability, his wrinkled lips spread into a knowing smile. Richter feels his hair stand on end at the expression, and his skin crawls with something sinister.

He can feel something boring into his back then, and the gaze of whatever lingers behind him has Richter turning with sudden realization. The face of the creature he meets drags a shocked gasp from him, and the echoing laughter of Shaft says that the priest found his surprise amusing.

Richter stares down the coiling form of a Medusa, and the hungry grin plastered upon her razor maw tells him everything he needs to know. The creature's tail flicks likes a feline's, and the rattle that accompanies it makes Richter take a wary step back. He knows all too well of what Medusas are capable of, and pointedly averts his gaze away from her face.

The eager hissing of her snakes breaks the silence between them, and Shaft's command is the only thing to join it, "Why don't you take care of our guest? I'm certain the Belmont will make a nice addition to the master's gardens!"

Richter is taken off guard by the sudden slithering of the Medusa, and her body coils across the ground in lightning quick strides. Richter barely has time to bounce back to narrowly avoid the hungry snapping of her snakes, and even as he tries to put distance between them, the creature is summoning more of her poisonous familiars. They try to swarm at Richter's feet, to snap at whatever flesh or cloth their fangs can break through. He can feel their soft underbellies sliding over the tops of his boots, and he viciously kicks them away as the Medusa hisses at him menacingly.

She uses the distraction offered by her pets to try and swipe at the hunter with her poisonous claws, and Richter nearly finds himself being shredded by their sharp tips, if not for the evasive roll he took. All the while, her eyes are trying to find his, and he's trying desperately not to let his vision swim past hers for even a split second. It's harder than it seems, especially with the chaos of the snakes and their master coiling around him.

Shaft doesn't seem content to float idly by, for his form slowly makes its way over to the center of the clearing, and his hands are raising and conjuring orbs of raw electricity. The orbs spread around Richter in various patterns, and their crackling grows louder and louder, until they're spitting out vicious bolts of lightning that force him to dive between their arcs.

The hunter feels his anger return tenfold at the priest's unfair attacks, "I shouldn't have expected anything less from you! You can't even face me one on one!"

"It's so much more amusing to watch you wiggle uncomfortably, Belmont!" Comes Shaft's ridiculing laughter.

Now Richter is torn between fighting off the Medusa and her snakes, along with the crackling orbs that the dark priest summons. He manages to dance in between their coordinated attacks, but his defensive position offers no openings for an attack. Not unless he wants to chance taking a poisonous bite from one of the snakes, or being fried by the lightning that singes his skin with its proximity. He can feel the tenderness of his flesh from where the heat narrowly misses him, and it throbs dully, as if his heartbeat has moved there.

He can feel himself growing fatigued with his constant dodging, and the dizziness from earlier returns, making his vision swim. Richter's hand comes to the side of his head, where a migraine is slowly building. He can feel his sweat turning cold, making him almost shiver with the fever that seems to overtake him.

If only Alucard hadn't taken so much from him…!

He's not sure how much longer he can keep this up. His dodging becomes clumsier, and Richter can feel the snakes gnawing at his boots, curling their way upon his legs as he tries to shake them off. The Medusa seems to sense his worsening condition, for she chortles sharply at him, her razor sharp teeth glinting in the offered moonlight. Shaft echoes her amused laughter, finding the weakening condition on the hunter just as entertaining.

"Not much longer! Perhaps I'll allow you to choose your death, Belmont. Would you prefer to die slowly to the Medusa's poison, or shall I cook you and serve you to the beasts in the lower reaches? Choose quickly, for I fear you don't have much time left!"

"Shut up!" Richter bites out, though his voice is strained with both exertion and violent vertigo. It's true. At this pace, he'll eventually end up faltering, and that single mistake will undoubtedly spell his doom. His heart beats heavily against his rib cage, inciting slight twinges of pain, and his legs grow heavier and weaker. It feels as if his energy is being sapped by some unseen force.

The tip of his boot catches a crack in the roof, and he feels himself go sprawling, smashing almost face first into the stone below. Richter's chin catches the brunt of the fall, and his whip skitters from his hands in the shock of the impact. He wheezes for a moment, feeling the air being squeezed from his lungs, but he doesn't have long to lament his clumsiness, for he soon feels the cold slithering of the snakes upon him.

It seems the Medusa has found him first.

The snakes curl around his limbs quickly, and the coolness of their scales makes him shiver against their forms. Richter immediately stills afterwards, fearing that the slightest twitch from him will encourage them to strike. They seem content with just covering his body for now, though he's certain that their sudden unwillingness to bite stems from their master's sadistic command.

Of course the Medusa would want to finish him off herself. Richter never foresaw himself dying in such a manner; curled upon the ground, covered in a poisonous mass of snakes, and waiting quietly and without fight for death to claim him. He suddenly finds himself wishing for Alucard's presence, for the other to seemingly materialize like he always seems to do, and save him. He hadn't realized how vital the dhampir's interferences had been, until it dawns on him in that moment. How many times had Alucard indirectly saved his life under the guise of toying with him?

And now, here he lies, alone and forgotten, with the dhampir probably miffed by his unexplained absence. Richter wishes he were lying in that safe bed again, protected by its thick canopy and the beautiful man that it belonged to. He would trade the Medusa's slithering serpents for Alucard's cold embrace in a heartbeat.

"I'm certain your little ones must be hungry," Shaft murmurs encouragingly to the Medusa. "Go. Let them feast upon him. I'm certain they'll be happy with his taste!"

Richter hears the hissing of the snakes increase, spots their maws opening with the promise of filling him with their debilitating poison. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters a final prayer to God, though he doubts he will bother to hear it. ' Forgive me… for my sins. Please, spare Annette's soul. Deliver her not to hell, but find it in your heart to take her by your side, for she has not committed the sin here. Punish me instead, on her behalf… for it's what I deserve.'

There's the piercing sound of a shriek filling the air, but it's not his own.

Richter barely cracks open his eyes enough to catch something massive swooping over him, but the wind beating off of the thing's wings is immediately recognizable. Something dark and mossy green dances in the peripheral of his vision. His eyes follow its fleeting form, and once the creature comes into the full line of his sight, he is both relieved and slightly terrified of what he sees.

Something strangely draconic is tearing its way into the Medusa's shoulder, and the victim of its sizeable jaws screeches and thrashes in an attempt to throw it off. The snakes covering his body begin slithering away quickly, converging on the point where they sense their master's pain. But the little serpents cannot reach the creature that hovers with grand wing flaps, nor does Richter think they could even pierce its thick, scaly hide if they could. The Medusa squirms weakly between its jaws, but her strength is quickly being sapped by the blood that pools down her serpentine body.

The draconic beast flings her to the side easily, and it turns to stare past Richter with its bright, piercing gaze. The hunter would have thought it ready to attack him then, if not for how he recognized it to be staring up at the suddenly silent priest. Richter follows the creature's sight, and finds Shaft to be gawking down at them, his face twisted with genuine shock.

It doesn't take long for him to gather his bearings, for he's soon scowling and turning his narrowed eyes to someone unseen. Richter shifts his gaze again, slowly, and the person that greets him makes relief course through him once more. "Maria!"

The tiny blonde points her finger menacingly at Shaft, and the creature that flung the Medusa like a ragdoll comes to land obediently by her side. "You leave Richter alone, you awful man! I'm tired of you constantly trying to hurt good people!"

Richter, now free from the serpents that seemed to have dissipated with their master's defeat, reaches out across the ground to where his whip lies. He pushes himself unsteadily to his knees, his blue eyes shooting sharp daggers at the priest. "Why don't you come down and fight me now?"

Shaft's teeth are bared in a grimace at the two of them, and his fingers curl into trembling fists at his sides, "Damn you, you cursed little girl. I should have killed you before turning you over to that hunter!"

"Well, boohoo!" Maria yells back at him, and her hands mockingly make a show of crying. "You sure do love to team up on other people, but whine like a baby when you get your just desserts!"

If not for the anger that sizzled beneath his skin, Richter would have smirked at Maria's retort. However, he's still feeling terribly sore about his almost-defeat, and coupled with the other emotions threatening to eat him from the inside out, his face can only contort into a dark shadow of itself. He pushes himself to his feet, albeit a bit shakily, and draws the whip back, prepared to strike once more at the priest.

Shaft's eyes flit between them, focusing first on Richter's whip and Maria's summoned familiar. His wrinkled lips peel back over his teeth as he speaks, and his tone is both terse and haggard, "I will find you alone soon, Belmont. When I do, there will be no one to stop me from taking what I want!"

"You plan to flee again?!" Richter nearly growls, and his hand makes a wide arc, sending the whip out towards the dark priest. It bounces once more off of the green barrier that surrounds him, much to Richter's annoyance.

Maria doesn't seem intent on letting him escape either, for she sends the dragon-like being flying towards the dark priest. It's sharp maw opens, glowing and spitting embers with the promise of a breath attack, but then Shaft is floating up and away, taking himself out of the creature's trajectory. His form begins to waver in a familiar fashion, and the realization that he's about to escape once more has Richter wanting to scream in frustration.

There's nothing the two of them can do though, and the priest's body disappears to somewhere unknown, leaving only Richter, Maria, and the cooling corpse of the Medusa behind. The hunter is grunting out a prolonged, strained noise afterwards, and his hands fist into his hair, tugging mercilessly at his own strands as he paces about the opening. Maria's creature fades away at the motion offered by her hand, and she's turning to face Richter with wide, concerned eyes.

Her hands clasp together over her chest, and she seems almost hesitant to chance speaking to him in his volatile state. "Richter…? Are you okay?"

His feet skid to a stop at her voice, though his hands still tremble as they lower from his head. Richter can feel the shaking spreading into his arms, and the feverish feeling that brought him down before still remains. His vision is frayed at the edges, but whether it's from exhaustion or the intensity of his anger, he's unsure. His voice is short, and terribly stiff as he responds, "No."

Maria's usual naive nature doesn't seem to blind her to the distress that comes of Richter in palpable waves. He sees her mouth something silently, her lips nearly trembling, though she's quick to speak afterwards, "What's wrong, Richter? Why are you so angry?"

Her question only seems to make him bristle even more, but Richter knows better than to take his grief and troubles out on her. Despite the bit of rationality that still lingers in the back of his mind, it's still harder done than said to keep his tone from being scathing. "I don't wish to speak of it." Richter's eyes scan the clearing above him, and narrow at the crimson stairs that linger so closely by. His footsteps resume, and they slowly lead him past Maria. She's turning to stare at him with vulnerable eyes, and her lips part on unsure words, though nothing ever comes out. Richter mutters sourly as he passes her by, "Leave, Maria. Take the girls that you've saved, and get the hell out of here."

"R-Richter, wait," She tries, and her hand reaches out to grasp weakly at his arm. His hand comes up and quickly pushes it back, though he remains facing away from her. A small, barely audible noise leaves Maria at that, something between the lines of a gasp and a pained noise. Still, she tries to speak to him, "You can't go alone. You heard what he said, he'll try to hurt you again, and we can't leave yet because Annette still needs us to find her-"

"Forget about it, Maria." Richter bites out quickly, and she tenses at the way his voice raises. It softens at his next words, though they come out with a pitifully dark tone to them. "It doesn't matter what he said. He's not the one I'm after, anyway. So leave. I want you to turn around and leave, right now, and… don't you ever come back here. No matter what."

Maria's face turns red with heat, and her eyes seem to glimmer with unshed tears. Her voice shakes as she tries once more to speak, "What do you mean, 'forget'...? What about saving Annette? Richter… I can't just leave you or her here. I can't leave until I know you're both-"

"I won't tell you again!" Richter spins, and he pins the younger girl with a heated glare. Maria finds herself stumbling back a step at the intensity of his expression, and it feels as if her heart has leapt into her throat. Her green eyes go wide at the other's sudden hostility, her lashes quickly becoming damp with tears. Richter doesn't relent at the sight, however, "I don't want you here! There's nothing here for you, Maria! So just. Leave." There's a barely there shake to her head, and the first few tears begin to tip over and spill down her reddened cheeks. Richter feels another wave of irritation course through him at her refusal, and his voice rises on a coarse yell, "Now!"

Her entire body flinches at that, and Richter catches sight of her lips trembling, and pressing into a thin line. There's a broken noise rumbling behind them, almost like a whimper, but Maria quickly turns and sprints away from him before anything can find its way out. He hears a series of gasps as she escapes from the clearing, and their likeness to sobs makes his heart sting with regret. Richter suddenly feels awful for his abrasive handling of the situation. He squeezes his eyes shut and huffs out a haggard breath, trying not to dwell too hard on the heartbroken noises he heard.

What matters the most is that he managed to get her away. If Maria followed him up into the throne room and saw Annette… it would shatter the poor girl. He's unsure of whether or not he'd be capable of killing Annette in Maria's presence. But then again… he's unsure if he's capable of killing her at all. Despite everything that'd happened, Richter still feels disgust build at the thought of harming her, no matter how willing she is to hurt him.

He only hopes that perhaps his hatred of the Count will blind him long enough to carry out the task at hand. It seems to allow him to hurt everyone else without a second thought.

Richter stares quietly after Maria, and mouths a silent apology before he's turning, and finding his way to the crimson stairs. He knows not of what his fate will be, but he hopes that whatever is it will at least give his tortured soul a fraction of peace.

* * *

"Not one day goes by that I don't compromise your love."

Richter…? Is that you? ...Oh, Richter, good. I was beginning to miss you so much. You've no idea of how bad I've been wanting to see you again. I was so sad before, when you were taken from me, but now you've come back, and you'll finally be mine… right? Won't you, Richter?

You'll be mine, and we'll spend the rest of eternity with each other. You'll never have to hurt again, Richter. I'll always be there for you, in body, in spirit. I'll be at your call and beckon, at whatever your heart desires. Name it, and I'll make it so. I would lie before your feet, without overture, would dare not even touch you if you willed it. As long as you gave yourself to me first…

The voice that echoes in the night seems to come at him from all directions. Richter, however, doesn't allow himself the slightest pause in his ascent to the throne room. His legs carries him with rigid patience up the crimson stairs, through the blinding moonlight that spills over the grand steps. He closes his mind to the voice that calls for him sweetly, tries his best to muffle the pleas that beckon him forward.

You're so quiet, Richter. It's so unlike you… has that man changed you somehow? Did he do something to you? Don't worry, love, I'm sure he'll have to pay for his actions soon enough. Come to me, and I'll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. Come into my arms, and I'll shield you from all those awful thoughts that are in your head. I know you must be so weary.

Come to me, sleep with me. I'll make you forget **everything**.

Richter makes no noise, but he tries to use the chaos of his mind to block her sickly sweet voice out. For once, the whirring of his thoughts prove to be almost helpful, for her promises get lost in the sea of worries that make his stomach twist with anxiety. Still, he can hear the soft hum of her tone, still trying to drag him down with its saccharine proposals.

He walks along the hallway leading to the throne room, strides down the middle of the red carpet, with only his shadows as a companion. They dance against the beautiful architecture of the walls, writhing with the torchlight that breathes life into the corridor. There is not even a door at the end, just a wide archway that leads into a room that is barely lit by the candelabras that he can see.

Richter steps past the threshold, and turns to an alcove in the room. He expected a trap of sorts, a surprise attack to perhaps catch him off guard, but no… he's not even afforded that.

Instead, the sight that greets him makes his eyes harden, his fingers curl into his palms until his knuckles are going bone white beneath his gloves. He squares himself, tenses his muscles tightly so that the shaking of his anger can't be seen. He refuses to show anything other than the grim set of his lips, or the sudden coldness of his eyes.

Annette sits at the foot of the throne, her arms curled over and about the black-clad legs that rest against its bottom. Her eyes meet Richter, and the slow, mischievous smile that spreads over her darkened lips makes him want to look away. One of her hands abandons its soft stroking of the limb beside her, and stretches out, repeating the curling gesture she'd first offered to him in the clock tower.

Richter clenches his teeth, grinds them together heavily to prevent himself from speaking.

He hears deep laughter at his apparent disapproval, and his eyes immediately shift to the vampire sitting on the throne. Richter recalls his ancestor's previous descriptions of the Count in their journals, and observes that there are slight changes to his appearance, though they are almost negligible. His hair seems lighter than what they described, and his form perhaps a bit sturdier.

He looks well, and that doesn't help the sudden apprehension Richter feels at the sight of him.

The Count cradles a wine glass in one hand, occasionally tilting the globe of it and stirring the contents without much effort. His other pets appreciatively at Annette's hair, and she almost seems to purr at the ministrations, her eyes fluttering shut in delight. Richter has the uncontrollable urge to cover his mouth at the scene before him, feeling suddenly nauseous as he stands there. He settles for averting his gaze, though his lips visibly curl in disgust.

"I see you've been quite busy with my son. I didn't believe him to be the type to lower himself to such paltry standards, but then again, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised." His crimson eyes bore into Richter's body, and the intensity of them makes the hunter feel as if they're actually burning him.

Richter hears a soft gasp of surprise from Annette. "Oh? What has he done now?"

Dracula spares his fledgling a knowing smirk, but Richter can tell that he hardly finds amusement in it. "Your beloved isn't as faithful as he appears to be."

"Ah. I suppose that would make us even then. I'm sure he will understand… once he agrees to your demands. Won't you, Richter?" Annette's voice drops into a gleeful giggle, and she lays her head against the thigh of the vampire next to her.

"Annette," Richter grits out, feeling himself becoming more and more vexed by her commentary. "Cease this at once."

"You don't tell me what to do, Richter. You're not my master, but he… is." She blinks up at the man who continues to stroke affectionately at her hair. "And he'll be yours soon enough."

His hand is going to his whip then, and Richter draws the weapon with a breath full of trembling fury. He loathes watching Dracula stroke and pet at her as if she were an exotic animal, hates how Annette's face warps with primal pleasure at the gestures. Richter wishes nothing more than to chase away the imagery with the vampire's blood.

"I didn't come here to watch you defile her further. I came to destroy you, and I intend on doing just that."

"Such bravado," Dracula chastises him softly. His hand comes away from Annette's hair, and the blood-warped woman nearly lets out a woeful keen at the loss of it. Richter tenses at the sight of him rising slowly from his throne, and Annette seems to take right after him, coming to stand at his side as he descends the few steps leading up to it. Her large wings unfurl from her back, spreading to eclipse the throne that sat behind them. "We will see if that pride of yours has any merit to it."

"I've always been a man of action. Words are useless, and I'll show you why." Richter widens his stance, lets the whip trail down onto the floor in dangerous coils. The weapons seems to thrum almost violently in the presence of the vampire, recognizing the monster for exactly what he is. The centuries worth of blood woven into its leather cord sing with the desire to rip him apart. Richter finds himself feeling just the same.

"So it seems. Well then, son of Belmont… show me exactly what you're capable of!"

The cape is splayed wide, and from its blood red threads forms a fiery orb that spouts triplets of the same element. Richter rolls to the side as they fly right past him, and they sizzle as they meet the cold stone of the walls.

He uses the momentum of his movements to swing the whip in a wide arc. What should have been a strike against the center of Dracula's body seems to fly right through him, and his form wavers with red and black shadows, before appearing a step away from the cord's impact. 'Of course,'He thinks bitterly, recalling how Alucard had demonstrated the same ability. 'I'll just have to catch him off guard, then.'

Richter supplements his next attack with quick lashes of the whip, bringing his arm down in both vertical and horizontal strikes, chasing Dracula back with his persistency. They all seem to miss, floating right through the afterimages left by the vampire, and earning a slew of amused laughter that makes him prickle with annoyance.

The whip comes crashing down once more, and the Count's form seems to waver through it all the same, but his usual step back is replaced by him quickly closing the distance between them, and the clawed strike that catches Richter across the face sends him sprawling across the room. He back collides with the hard, marble floor, and his cheek stings with hot blood. His fingers come to touch tentatively at his skin, and find that four stripes extend from the bottom of his eye to his jaw.

His eyes blearily blink up at the other, and find that he's taken to staring with slight interest at the blood painting his nails. Richter feels ice spill down his spine at the sight of him dipping one of his fingers between his lips, and pointedly looks away.

Dracula seems enthused by the first strike, and offers Richter a taunting laugh, "I do hope that isn't the best you can do, Belmont. Your ancestors were much more feisty than this. At least they could give me a battle worth fighting!"

Wiping at the blood dripping down his cheek, Richter struggles to his feet with shaky effort, and dusts his hands across his trousers. "I've not even started yet."

"Ah?" Dracula tests, and his face is full of incredulity. "Then please, by all means, feel free to make things more interesting."

Though Richter instills more force into his strikes, he still finds the majority of them phasing through the vampire. Try as he might, even his most intricate strikes seem to be read like an open book, and more often than not, he finds himself dodging the rain of fire and bolts that are launched at him. His clothes are frayed from the flames that lick at their threads, and more than once, he's had to stop for a moment to pat frantically at his coat, lest he let himself catch completely on fire.

Richter reaches into the holsters holding his throwing knifes, and tries to make the Count scramble to dodge them in an attempt to catch him off guard. He nearly balks when the blade is caught between those clawed fingers, and dropped uselessly to the floor, a perfect rendition of his and Alucard's first meeting.

It almost pains him that he's drawing so many similarities between the two, but then again, they are father and son .

Fatigue is ever the leeching problem, and Richter can feel the dizziness returning to him slowly. He curses himself for not resting properly before choosing to start this fight, but his anger and eagerness had gotten the best of him, and left him effectively blind. Perhaps Alucard had not expected him to leave right away the next morning, or perhaps the dhampir's appetite was simply monstrous. Richter doesn't know the truth, and thinks he never will, if this pace continues.

In a desperate attempt to make the vampire stumble, Richter produces one of the vials of holy water he'd packed with him, and punctuates the crack of his whip with a strong toss of the blessed water. He'd refrained from burning through his resources since he arrived here, holy water being one of the more sparse ones, and is thankful for his decision to do so, for the blue flames that erupt against the Count's arms draw the first noise of pain from him since their fight begun.

Richter can feel his mouth spreading into a malicious grin, and he draws his hand back to strike at the stunned vampire, only to find that he can't move it forward. Something wraps around the entirety of his arms, cold and sturdy, and he turns his head with annoyed eyes to spy what is stopping him.

Annette floats behind him, her arms wrapping around the weapon and himself, her face drawn into a faux expression of hurt. Richter tries to yank his arm free from her, but her supernatural strength seems too great for him to overcome. "Annette!" His voice is sharp, a heated stab in her direction. "Release me at once! Do you not know of what you're doing?!"

Her entire body sways with the effort to keep his arm at bay, though she seems to put dubious effort into appearing heartbroken. "I do! I cannot allow you to do this, Richter!" She allows one of her hands to uncurl from his forearm, and reaches forward to cup his cheek gently. The sudden vulnerability in her eyes makes Richter's breath catch in his throat. It's so very reminiscent of the old Annette. "Richter… please, reconsider. I'm certain if you swear loyalty to him, he will bestow upon you the same gift. I only wish to have you at my side forever. I don't want either of you to die!"

"N-No, Annette…" Richter protests weakly. Despite knowing that she was merely stalling him, he can't help the way he leans into her touch slightly. Richter is suddenly so overcome with sorrow that he nearly forgets the fact that Dracula lingered only a few feet away, still recovering from the flames that singed his skin.

"Yes, yes," Her voice drops to a soft murmur. She releases his arm almost completely then, and her cold hands frame his face in such a loving manner, that it almost makes tears spring to his eyes at the memories they invoke. "Do this for me, Richter. I know it must hurt you terribly to consider it, but think of the rewards you can reap from it all. Never again will you feel illness, or pain, or discomfort. I can see it in your eyes, how much you're suffering right now. You could say goodbye to that, cast it away, and still have me in the end. Please, open your eyes!"

His hand raises to cup over her own, icy one, though it quivers with the motion. Richter can't deny how wonderful her words sound, can't pretend that the promise she offers before him isn't the best thing he's heard since he discovered her fate. His body feels so worn with blood loss, his mind frayed by the grief that threatens to shatter him like fine glass. He craves for an end, for something to take away all the things trying to consume him whole.

Annette's expression is so full of love, so very like the woman who once met him in her quaint little village with the same eyes. Richter feels a sense of yearning so deep, that he nearly falls to his knees with the way it shakes his entire body. The whip nearly falls from his hand as they move to her shoulders, more than ready to pull her into a needy embrace, to remind himself of why he loved her so dearly.

But his ears are suddenly picking up a noise behind him. Richter barely has enough time to react before the hissing sound of a growl is meeting his ears, and he does so in the only way he can. He spins so that Annette takes his place, his arms held out to grasp at her fine shoulders, and it's only a second later that he feels lukewarm blood splash against his face and neck.

The sight that greets him tears what can only be described as a sob from his mouth.

Annette's mouth hangs open, silent on a cry that never came. Her eyes are blown wide, frighteningly so, and her arms fall from Richter's face to hover with uncertainty over the claws that pierce through her torso. The flesh by her heart is torn, hanging limply from her frame, spurting generous streams of blood down her naked chest and stomach. It drips down to her knees, pools at her heeled feet on the floor in sick, thick globs.

She tries to speak, but her voice can't produce anything past quiet, choked noises. She draws in a sharp, trembling breath, her legs going nearly limp in Richter's hold, and then she's all but collapsing against him, her face still drawn into a terrified expression, though no life seems to remain in her body.

Richter finds himself stumbling back with her corpse, falling against the marble floor with indescribable noises of despair. He can't make sense of what his mind is trying to convey, can only register the sadness that threatens to split his heart in two. His arms scramble to hold her, shake at her in an attempt to jostle some life back into her eyes. But she remains unmoving, bloodied beyond belief, and more like a doll than a person.

The voice that speaks above him sounds almost comically bored, and Richter spares a glance up at Dracula to find him eyeing his bloodied hand with distaste. "A shame, really. I was beginning to grow fond of her. Well, almost."

"Y-You…" Richter chokes out, his voice not his own, and seeped with both fury and distress. "You treat her as if she were a toy… She was… She was a human being, you fucking monster!"

"A pathetic, worthless human being that I was kind enough to make into something greater." Dracula shrugs at Richter's agony, as if it were a silly overreaction. "Really, her death is your own fault. That attack was meant for you, I assure you."

"No, no…!" Richter clutches Annette tighter to him, neverminds the way her blood seeps through the front of his coat and makes his skin sticky. His eyes sting with tears, and they fall quickly down his cheeks, burning his skin with their hotness. They drip steadily into Annette's hair, now dyed pink where it touches at the wound on her back. "I didn't do this. No, you… you did this. You took her from me, you- You!"

"Lie if you must, Belmont. It changes nothing." The vampire before him holds open the length of his cape, where the massive burning form of a fiery orb materializes. The heat from it quickly dries the tears upon Richter's face, but it takes no time for them to be replaced. "You will still die, regardless. Annette was merely an unfortunate accident. Give my regards to your cursed ancestors, won't you?"

There is no fight left in Richter, no springing desire to roll away from the fire that blazed before him. He stares down the inferno with reddened eyes, holds Annette as if she were an anchor in a raging sea, and contents himself to be consumed in the flames. His head dips, his lips pressing against the crown of her hair as tears continue to roll quickly down his face. His fingers clutch desperately, dig deeply into her skin as he readies himself to die.

He may not be able to follow Annette's soul, but he'll be damned if he lives without her.

The flames come, but they never strike him. Instead, there's a roar of something awful echoing in the room, and a wall of fire seems to spring between Richter and Dracula. Something smashes into one of the room's pillars, and the sound of stone shattering into heavy chunks causing Richter to flinch and hunker lower, his body curled around Annette's as if she were still alive.

He feels hands upon him then, prying his own away from her dead body, and Richter shrieks, screams loudly at whoever is trying to rip him away from Annette. He thrashes with strength he didn't know he had, kicks and claws and even tries to bite at the arms that circle him. It's to no avail, as whoever pried him away from his dead beloved is much stronger than him.

Richter reaches out blindly for her body, forgotten in the chaos of the flames that spread throughout the room, of the stones that skittered across the floor. He hears something roar loudly in the midst of it all, catches sight of the flames twisting into a cyclone, before whoever is carrying him doubles their efforts to get away.

They move quickly away from the throne room, descend down the crimson stairs and don't even bother taking the halls to get back down. He knows this feeling, remembers feeling the wind rushing against him as he descended in the clock tower.

His protests die quickly, his limbs suddenly going dead despite the fire that burned in them just seconds earlier. Richter finds himself burying his head into the black cloak that whipped behind them, his fingers clutching tightly at the shoulder that emanated nothing but cold. His shoulders shake with harsh sobs, his tears sinking into the black fabric beneath him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to conjure Annette's face in his mind; her sweet smile, her gentle features, her tied hair…

All he sees is the bloodied corpse he held in his hands, and Richter nearly goes faint with the agony of his own misery.


	7. Mind Block

_"And now I found brimstone in my garden. I found roses set on fire. And I found Jesus, what a liar. So I trade licks with muddy waters."_

It must be a dream. A cruel nightmare forged by the darkest pits of his mind. There is no way that God could let something such as this come to pass. It's not possible, it must be a dream, it can't be real, it's too barbaric, it's too torturous, and it's too unfair .

He doesn't deserve this. Not him. He can search deep inside his soul for the beginnings of some justification for this, but he won't find anything. He's not perfect, that much is true, but surely there are worse out there who are more suited for this fate. Surely to God, he hasn't fallen so low that this is the justice delivered to him.

It must be a dream. If it's not, then maybe, if he disconnects himself enough, he can make it one.

It's hard to break himself out of the catatonic state that seems to have overtaken him. So he doesn't try at all. Instead, he stares listlessly ahead, eyes eerily empty and unseeing. There's no glimmer in them anymore. They settle like dull pools of water against the whites. Time doesn't feel like a corporal thing. Time is something lost to him now, and it shows with how he sits, unmoving for hours.

He barely notices the dark figure moving in and out of his vision, can barely afford the energy to even shift his eyes. Everything seems so blearily out of focus, as if he's peering at things from underwater. He feels a heavy blanket of exhaustion weighing down over his skin, threatening to floor him with its force. His insides feel so hollow, scraped clean and raw of everything that could make him feel. It's a small mercy, he thinks, for when the numbness inevitably wears off, he's not sure what he'll do with himself. Perhaps the heartbreak will claim him as another victim. Perhaps his soul will wander for eternity, permanently separated from the woman he once loved. He will never know the warmth of her love again.

He's somewhat aware of how his throat aches sharply, as if he'd been screaming himself hoarse. He probably has been, but the memories of the throne room are so splotchy and unclear. All he can recall is the light of the flames and the crimson of her blood. And that roar, that bloodcurdling, vengeful roar… he's almost thankful that Alucard saved him, for there's no telling what sort of horrors he would have endured at Dracula's hands. Almost.

He secretly wishes that the hellfire would have claimed him. He could have burned with her, let his ashes mingle with hers in a desperate attempt to find some sort of closeness in death. Instead, he now lives while her ashes are probably scattered across the room. There's nothing left to claim of her. She truly is gone to him now, perverse mangling and all. He hadn't even given her a ring yet.

Richter is barely aware of the small weight that settles over his shoulders. His eyes shift slowly to the padded fluff of a golden quilt draped over him. He's not sure when the item was placed there, but the gesture makes his heart ache dully, and it nearly draws a whimper from between his lips. Richter's hands clasp at the quilt's edges and pull it tightly over him. He curls into a ball against the intricate sofa he sits upon, and allows himself to topple over onto his side. The burn of tears pricks at his eyes for what must be the hundredth time, and it's not long before he can feel them slipping slowly down his face.

He cries silently, and feels a little better about it. It doesn't erase the pain, but it dulls it somewhat. Makes it bearable.

He must doze off for a while, because he's suddenly opening his eyes and finding that the room is a little different. Some of the sconces have been blown out, and instead candles burn dimly against the darkness of the room. Richter realizes that Alucard must have dimmed the lights once he fell asleep. The small gesture once again incites the smallest twinges of gratefulness and pain inside his heart. He's not sure why the kindness of the other makes him feel like that, but it does nonetheless. Perhaps it's a part of him yearning for some semblance of love and affection in this cold, cursed castle. Perhaps it was a part of him that was repulsed by the care, thinking himself undeserving of it after failing Annette. Perhaps it was a little of both.

What would he do without Alucard? Richter feels almost scarily dependent on the dhampir now, and the selfish desire to stay at his side floods him with bitterness. It would be easy, wouldn't it? To hide behind the man and stay in the shadow of his safety. He could give him his blood, offer him his body, and he'd probably never have to raise a finger to defend himself again. Because that's what Alucard wants, right? That's the only reason he continued to save Richter from his demise, over and over again. That must be it.

Richter barks out a sudden, broken laugh, his lips twisting into a grim smile. The thought is so tempting. Perhaps he has fallen completely out of God's favor.

He hears the soft sound of footsteps crossing the floor again, and his eyes lazily follow the sound, unable to pick out the black of Alucard's clothing from the shadows. It doesn't take long for him to wander into the glow of the candlelight, however. Richter stares with a splotchy face up at the dhampir, his eyes half lidded and sore from his continuous crying. He says nothing, can't seem to find the will to speak on the matter, and small talk is ridiculously out of the question. Alucard meets his gaze with his luminescent eyes, and the gold of them is somewhat soothing to look at. Richter can see pity written upon the other's face.

He almost wants to turn away from it.

Alucard seats himself on the edge of the opposing table facing the sofa. He doesn't speak a single word, for which Richter is grateful for, but simply casts his eyes downward and lingers with nonconfrontational silence. His hands fold over themselves in his lap, his thumbs pressing idly at the golden seams in his clothing. Richter finds the small detail to be so painfully human, and he's not sure why. The silence that was once welcome grows thick, and eventually Richter finds it to be almost overbearing.

Luckily, Alucard seems to feel much the same, for his voice comes out on a gentle whisper, "Should I bother asking if you're okay?"

Richter's voice is pitifully weak, "I am as far from okay as I can possibly be."

There's a soft huff of breath from Alucard, something along the lines of agreement mixed with sad amusement. Richter can tell that he's not sure if he should proceed, if any words will be worth wasting on him. To be honest, Richter feels like it would be useless to try and console him right now. He doubts there's anything that can erase the sense of mourning he feels at the moment.

It's a little more muted, now, that he's had the opportunity to sleep some of it off. Now it feels like an open wound rather than a freshly inflicted one. But Richter knows that the longer he lies here, the more it'll fester, and soon he'll probably be just as broken as he was when Alucard first brought him here.

His mind wanders in chaotic circles, conjuring the same image over and over again, and letting it float in a sea of senseless words and impulses. Richter can feel the desire set deep into his bones. He wants nothing more than to spring to his feet and start running, and to where, he's not sure. Out of the castle? It doesn't matter to him. More than that, he just wants to know that he can get away if he needs to.

But there's probably no better place for him to be right now, than with Alucard sitting by his side. The other's presence is a small balm for his sadness, and it helps to keep him from truly becoming lost to his thoughts. If Richter were to be swept away by the radical ideas plaguing his mind right now, he doubts he'd be alive in the next hour or so.

So he clears his throat, which is thick with sleep and tears, and attempts to show his gratitude despite the authenticity of it, "You saved me from your father… Why?"

Alucard seems just as perplexed as he is at the question, for his answer only comes after a long moment of deliberation, "Why not? It seemed wasteful to let you die in such in a way."

It's not quite the answer Richter is expecting, and the distant coldness he can feel from it makes his throat constrict uncomfortably. Richter presses his face into the cushions of the sofa, and squeezes his red-rimmed eyes shut. "Perhaps you should have."

The touch he feels at his back is also unexpected, and it startles him into flinching against it. Despite his reaction, Richter can feel a hand smoothing down his spine through his clothing, and the gentleness of the action is a far cry from Alucard's response. "I'm glad that I did, though now I fear that no place will keep you safe from my father. Even here, I suspect that he may tear apart the castle looking for you. And… me."

Richter recalls the lines of fire that saved him from Dracula's attack, and his head turns once more to fix Alucard with a curious look, "What did you do to him?"

"Something I've come to regret. Perhaps he would have been a bit more placated if my entry hadn't been so callous. Though, now I'm sure he harbors a great deal of ill will towards me." He moves from his seat on the table, and instead perches himself on the edge of the sofa's cushions, his body a cold weight against Richter's side. Richter feels his hand smooth its way from his back to his hair, and his eyes come to close peacefully as he feels his fingers carding through it.

"Does it bother you?" Richter's voice has dropped to a murmur.

Alucard shakes his head slowly, "Not quite. I've never raised my hand against my father, but I can't say with confidence that I feel bad for my actions. His were much worse in comparison."

"But now, even if I die, you'll probably be in danger." It's not a consolation prize. Despite Alucard's irritating stance on the situation, Richter would never try to drag him down with him.

Alucard doesn't seem too bothered by the idea. His lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, "I'll give him a century or two to cool down. But then again, he's awful with his grudges. But I also don't intend on letting you die here."

"That makes one of us." Richter draws his hand to his cheek, and winces as it drags over the raw stripes extending from the top of his cheekbone to his jaw. The realization that he could have easily lost an eye to Dracula makes him swallow past a lump in his throat.

He feels a cool hand still his own, and glances over to see Alucard pulling it away from the gashes. He replaces Richter's uncomfortably warm hand with his own, and the drop in temperature eases the sting of his sliced flesh. Alucard's fingers trace the edge of the claw marks, soothing the ache that radiated across Richter's face.

"I can have these healed," He offers quietly, "But I can't promise that it won't scar."

"Do as you wish." It matters not to me , Richter thinks cynically. The wounds inflicted upon him had been entirely forgotten about in lieu of his emotional episode. Even as the pain pulses dully across his face and his skin burns with the aftermath of the fire, Richter could care less if his injuries went untreated. Even if the threat of infection and disease lurks rampant in the monster filled castle, he's almost content to let himself fester and rot.

Of course, Alucard won't.

But he doesn't make any move to do anything for now, and instead sits quietly by Richter's side, his hands touching tentatively at him, as if he were made of glass. Richter supposes it's not too far from the truth. He feels like the smallest thing could absolutely shatter him. He can't even bring himself to sit up and face the other, contents himself to simply lie there and take whatever fate throws at him with glum acceptance.

He would have been fine to sit in thick silence for a while longer, but Richter finds himself blurting out his inner thoughts with careless regard, "Do you think God hates me? Is this my just punishment for failing my family and the Church, or is he simply a sadistic bastard?"

The question seems to take Alucard off guard, for his touches cease for a long moment. Richter hears a forlorn sigh slip past his lips, "I believe you're asking the wrong person." Alucard pulls his hands back into his lap, and from the corner of his eyes, Richter can see that he's in deep contemplation. It's a decent while before he gets anymore words out of the other. "I believe, for there to be holy magic and relics that can harm evil creatures, there must be something behind it powering them. At the same time, there are humans just as evil as the creatures that roam this castle, yet the cross won't burn them, and neither will holy water. The sun won't reduce them to ash, neither will holy magic cleanse them. So perhaps your God is a sadistic bastard , or his tendency to play favorites makes him quite biased and selfish. I've always found the Church's explanation for his various cruelties to be flimsy at best."

"You've put a lot of thought into this before."

"You forget that my mother was taken by that same cruelty. I've had plenty of time to lament your God's fickle ways and his followers. Centuries." Alucard rises from his perched spot, and he turns to stare down at Richter's weary form. "I suppose, in that respect, that is one of the few things that ties me to my father. I… understand his anger. I won't mirror it, but I sympathize with him. I pity him, for he lost himself completely to his hatred and bitterness. And for a while, I nearly did as well."

Richter shifts a little, turns so that he's halfway propped up onto his arms. He stares with wonderment at Alucard, surprised by the revealing nature of his words. The mention of his mother has Richter recalling his brash accusations at the other, and he feels guilt settle like a heavy stone in his stomach. "I… suppose I owe you an apology for what I said to you about your mother. I didn't think- I never dreamed that I could understand your distaste for humans, but…" Richter can feel the words lingering thickly like honey in his mouth. It's nearly impossible to force them out, but this is one admittance that he needs to offer Alucard. "I think… I get it now."

Their positions weren't quite reversed as it was that they were perfect mirrors of each other. Richter is looking from the surface down, while Alucard stares at him from the bottom of the pool, but the reflections they see are the same. Different environments, different variables, but the same line of sight, and the same ripples of the other man staring ahead.

He lost his mother because of God's cruelty. Richter lost Annette because of much the same. The epiphany comes as a strange relief, because for once, Richter actually allows himself to curse God in his thoughts, and it feels so damn good to finally point the blame where he sees fit.

But there's a look in Alucard's eyes then, and it's almost unnerving, because it's as if the dhampir can see a perfect transcription of Richter's thoughts. He's kneeling in front of the sofa then, and his pale brows are drawn downwards in what seems like the first inkling of concern that Richter has ever seen on his elegant face. His hands reach out, cup against the hunter's face in a motion that is so painfully tender, that it draws a flinch from Richter. There's a moment of deliberation, full of tense thought on his part, and then he's speaking.

"Don't ever become like my father. Or me. Hold onto your faith, and keep it close to your heart, because I will tell you now Richter Belmont; there is nothing down that particular road that you want to experience. You're much better off where you're at now."

Richter can feel his heart thudding like a stone against his ribcage, and his face heats uncomfortably against Alucard's frigid hands. There's suddenly so much sincerity on the other's face that it's damn near impossible to meet his eyes. Richter can feel himself wanting to squirm against his hands, for Alucard's words stir something raw and aching inside of him. Richter can feel tears springing to the surface again, but he adamantly fights them back, refusing to allow himself to cry again. He was so tired of feeling sorry for himself, but at the same time, he's stuck in what feels like an endless limbo of pain.

Richter just wants to forget, doesn't take the time to truly think about Alucard's words. All he cares about in that moment is the other's hands upon his face, the genuine affection written upon the dhampir's own. He feels the urge to throw himself into Alucard's arms, and it's so damn suffocating, that he nearly does. But Richter controls himself somewhat, and allows his hand to settle on Alucards, his fingers finding the other's and twisting between them.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, and Alucard follows him, seeming to note the change in his disposition. His expression turns guarded for a moment, as if he's not sure what to expect from Richter, and really, can the hunter fault him for that? He's not exactly been acting like the rational one lately. Yet, Alucard's touch remains, and Richter turns to press a kiss into his palm, which in turns causes the dhampir's expression to soften once more.

His hand pulls away from Richter, but it's only because he snakes his forearm around the hunter's neck. Richter can feel himself being pulled off the sofa, and he allows it to happen, slides with a boneless sort of effort to the space between the table and his former seat, allows himself to be nearly pulled into Alucard's lap. His instinct leads him to find the other's face, and he clasps it between his hands gently, before pulling it forward to meet his lips. Alucard allows it to happen, his mouth parting on a barely audible sigh as he goes, and the delight Richter feels upon kissing him is almost indescribable. For a moment, it's as if his heartbreak is completely washed away, and while the pain eventually begins to ebb back as the seconds drag on, there's no denying that the slicing edge to it has been smoothed out.

It is, perhaps, the most delicate kiss he's ever had, and that's with taking Annette into account. Richter doesn't allow her name to fully form in his mind, quickly chases the image of her bloodied face from his thoughts, and instead allows himself to become fully lost in the feel of Alucard's icy body. It's so different from their shared night, for Richter feels not the first ounce of shame or guilt nipping at him. In fact, there's something incredibly liberating about the way he allows himself to wrap his arms around the other, and the weight that once threatened to flatten his sternum seems to lessen with his touches.

His hands find their way into Alucard's hair, and it's soft and elegant and free of any mess like tangles or friz. His fingers comb through the locks with admiration, stroke down the cape clad back of the dhampir with open curiosity. Richter can feel one of Alucard's hands smoothing down his side, settling against his hip as he holds him, and the protection the hunter feels in that moment makes his chest swell with gratefulness. He pulls himself closer to the other, and the momentum as he does nearly sends the two of them falling back onto the floor, but Alucard catches himself, and he gladly accepts Richter's arms, is quick to wrap his own around the hunter. And yet, still, there is no fervor to their kiss, no inane effort to try and swallow each other up. It's all gentle touches, prolonged presses of lips with the barest hint of teeth and tongue. It's intimate without being unnerving, and it's so wonderful, that Richter hopes that it never ends.

He's not sure if he can call what he feels love. He's not sure if it's momentary infatuation, or a play of trickery on Alucard's part. He could be glamoured for all he knows. Richter isn't quite sure of his own emotions anymore, but he can recognize when something feels good. And this certainly does, and not just physically, but emotionally. It feels incredibly good.

The words force their way out of his mouth against his will, and Richter spares not the first second to think about what he's saying, "I wish I could stay here with you. I don't know how you do it, but you make me forget so much. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel with you, but I know that I want you, and that might make me selfish and a sinner, but I honestly don't give a shit right now." He barely affords the space to mumble at his words, the prospect of detaching himself from Alucard seeming too deplorable.

Alucard merely presses a kiss to his jawline, and one of his hands travel up to cup against Richter's neck, settling over the bite wound that was still relatively fresh. Despite the white kerchief hiding the evidence away, he seems to know exactly where his teeth marks lie. "I would let you if you wished it, but I don't recommend that you do. I can't give you anything worth staying for, Richter. T'would be best for you to finish your mission and leave."

"And what would you do then, if I did? With no castle and no bastard father around?" Sadness pervades its way into Richter's tone, and he presses the other back enough to let him see it mirrored in his eyes. "Would you disappear on me? Make it a point to never speak to me again?"

"I would sleep." Alucard's tone grows low, almost regretfully resigned. "And when I do, I'll make sure that you never find me, for you deserve far better than this."

"Be quiet," Richter grits out, finding his voice nearly restricted in his throat. His hands smooth back into Alucard's hair, and his fingers grip at the roots of it almost desperately. "You can't do this to me, and expect me to simply forget you. If you try to run away from me, I'll follow. You don't know how determined I can get when it comes to certain things."

"I know exactly how stubborn you can be," Alucard retorts with a gentle bit of snark in his tone. His fingers wrap around Richter's wrist, and he pulls his arm down enough to lay a cold kiss on its inside. "But I am quite selfish myself. So before you go to kill my father, I would ask that you spend this night with me."

"And then… what? No more?" Richter asks, and he can feel renewed heartache at the answer he knows the other will give.

Alucard is more clever than that, though, and he pointedly deflects away from the question. "Enough questions. I doubt you'd appreciate lying on the floor all night. Let's move, shall we?"

He's rising then, detaching himself from Richter, but his hands are quick to offer themselves to the hunter and pull him up with him. Richter barely has enough time to steady himself on his feet, before Alucard is pulling him into his arms and silencing any sort of protest with a smothering kiss. He finds cool arms trapping him against the dhampir, and while they normally would have incited nothing but primal fear before, Richter now goes willingly, and finds their stern grip on him to be incredibly welcome.

His feet stumble over themselves when Alucard starts moving, but he never trips, and though he's barely able to keep up with the dhampir's pace, Richter makes a good effort to follow. He's pulled through the thick drapes once again, lead back into the bedchamber that housed many of his mistakes. But he feels no indignation at himself or the other now, only finds himself growing fervent as they near the bed. Richter can feel the back of his legs hitting the edge of it, but before Alucard can topple him over, he's spinning their positions around and pressing his weight onto the other. Alucard's back hits the bed with a surprised huff of air escaping him, and Richter is quick to climb over his body, his legs straddling the other as he looms over him. He's already undoing the clasps of the belts hugging his sternum, is tossing them aside with the rest of his gear with careless disregard.

Alucard's hands reach out to help him, manage to strip most of the gear off with relative quickness, but then they stop at the whip on his belt, and the other's teeth draw together in a barely audible hiss, "T'was not too much fun taking that thing off of you last time."

"I'd been thinking of how you'd done it, but I never thought to ask." He catches Alucard's hand and guides it to his thigh, before unhooking the whip from his belt and gingerly letting it fall beside the bed.

"If you had been awake, you would have seen the awful burns it left. I'd rather not touch it again, though I wonder… what sort of magic is woven into it."

"It's consecrated," Richter explains, all the while shrugging off his coat and tossing it away. He quickly grows impatient with the lopsided lack of clothing, and sets to undoing the metallic clasps of Alucard's own. "My ancestor sacrificed much to create that whip. Sometimes I believe it to almost be sentient."

"How terrifying," Alucard smiles at him, though it's small and lingering more on a smirk. He raises enough to allow Richter to pull his cloak and accommodating clothing off, and it's not long until the both of them are only dressed in their trousers and undershirts. "So tell me, Richter; does the whip lead the man, or is it the other way around?"

"A little bit of both," He breathes languidly, feeling unabashed arousal pooling in his stomach at the sight of Alucard lying submissively below him. Richter can't be bothered to try and undo the buttons of the other's shirt, and instead focuses his attention on the only other item on his body. His hands nearly tremble as he helps pull the trousers free from Alucard's legs, and the baring of the dhampir's pale, cool thighs to him has Richter almost letting loose a needy whine.

Alucard watches him with barely concealed amusement, obviously entertained by Richter's poor attempt at concealing his lust. His thighs part a bit, and though his shirt is long enough to cover the tops of them, the growing bulge that tents the soft fabric is very telling. He sees Richter lick his lips almost hungrily, and the insinuation of what the other wanted almost tears a moan of desire from Alucard. Instead, his hands find Richter's once more, and he draws the hunter close enough to place a soft, open kiss to his lips. He feels a responding tongue lathing over his own, and Alucard nearly tips all the way back, if it were not for the pillows that prop him up somewhat.

Richter seems almost regretful about pulling away from him, but the way he moves down the dhampir's body hints at a larger, more demanding desire, and the tentative touches Alucard feels on his swollen member makes him gasp out a hissing noise of pleasure. Richter's hands slide beneath the hem of his shirt, and while his actions may be concealed by the thin fabric, it does nothing to dull the sensations. Alucard watches not what Richter does with his fingers, but instead gazes with wanton eyes at his face, and the growing hunger he can see forming over the hunter's features fills him with dark satisfaction.

Twisting Richter had been the goal at the beginning, and while Alucard has, undeniably, formed a deep appreciation for him, it's still so wrongly sweet to see the other drowning in sin. He feels such genuine, hindering affection for the hunter now, but it doesn't erase the delight Alucard gets from seeing him succumb to his once abhorrible desires.

There were just some things you couldn't strip from a monster, and even if he was only a half-breed, Alucard still qualified.

He gets exactly what he expects when he sees Richter scoot down enough to lean forward, and wrap his lips about the head of his cock. Alucard can't silence the hiss that slips past his lips then, and his legs go taut at the feeling of the other's tongue rubbing against the slit. His head cranes back, the tendons of his pale neck standing out for a moment, before Alucard is releasing a held breath and melting against the feel of Richter's mouth. His hands raise for a split second, his fingers curling into his palms with unspoken need, but Alucard quickly lets them drop in favor of letting Richter work undisturbed.

He surprises Alucard with how well he can tease him into painful arousal. Then again, Richter seemed to catch onto most things quickly, and it was no secret to him what it took to have a man's cock singing with pleasure. Alucard isn't sure if it's desperation in Richter's attempt to cloud his own thoughts, or genuine enthusiasm at having the dhampir's cock in his mouth, but Alucard finds himself at the mercy of the hunter's tongue, and the sweet torture of it all is nearly overwhelming.

Perhaps Alucard was simply enthralled with Richter, and that only served to make the moment even more potent than it already was. Everything is becoming increasingly convoluted; lines blurring and boundaries being either pushed or broken altogether, but Alucard doesn't regret the events that have led up to this particular situation. Richter Belmont was intended to be another victim of his father's castle, but instead he's a vivid pillar of humanity, a painful reminder of everything that Alucard had tried to hate after his mother's death, but has somehow failed to do just that. All because of this disgustingly human man and his soft, fragile heart.

Alucard finds himself swallowing thickly, his lips parting on soft pants that are barely audible past the slick sounds of Richter's mouth. Pale hands smooth into the hunter's hair. Not demanding or forceful with their touches, but instead, jarringly affectionate considering the lewdness of the situation at hand. Richter finds that he can no longer focus purely on running his tongue over the head of Alucard's cock, and draws back with vulnerable eyes.

"Alucard…?"

The dhampir gives a small shake of his head, his hands tugging gently at Richter's hair so that he can draw him close again. He doesn't care that his cock is being left ignored, has more pressing thoughts settling at the forefront of his mind. Namely what on earth he's going to do if Richter disappears to fight his father again, and he can't save him from the hellfire once more. Because Alucard knows, knows that he can't interfere again, could not be instrumental in his father's death without carrying a heavy heart for the rest of eternity. For as much as he dreads the thought of Richter lying dead and cold at his feet, he knows that it's just one human. Humans are momentary, a blimp in the neverending tapestry of time. His father is eternal, and the grief associated with harming him would drive Alucard mad. Richter's death would be easier.

What a lie , Alucard thinks to himself bitterly.

"Something's bothering you." Richter notes, and he settles beside Alucard, his warm, pleasant hands resting softly against his face.

"Many things are, though I wouldn't place my troubles anywhere near yours." And Alucard is weak to his touch, suddenly finding that Richter's physical presence is almost like a sweet bane to him. It was a mistake, to ever share a kiss with this man and invite him to his bed. Richter's somehow wriggled in between his ribs and settled close to his heart.

"But perhaps I could help you," Richter whispers, his fingers touching tentatively at his lips. "There's no help for me, that's- that's a given by this point, but you…" He trails off, the mention of his own woes bringing a slight tremble to his voice. Richter grows quiet, opting to focus purely on his breathing in an attempt to sway the sorrow still eating at him.

"I simply…" And how could he put it simply? Alucard can't find a way to string the words together without feeling like he'd be spitting in the face of Richter's dead beloved or trying to slip into her spot. They've only known each other for days. He knows he shouldn't feel the attachment he does for the hunter, but that logic does nothing to deter his fickle heart.

"It's strange," Richter murmurs softly at his ear, his hands moving from Alucard's face to stroke subtly down his body. "To see you looking vulnerable."

"I'm only vulnerable because of you," Comes the sudden confession, and Alucard feels as if he's opened a raw wound. His eyes comes to flutter closed once he feels Richter's hand settling over his cock again, working some of the hardness back into it with slow strokes. "It pains me to admit this, but I… I've grown quite fond of you. T'would break my heart to see you perish."

"Oh…" It's barely audible, but Alucard hears the gentle noise of surprise. Still, Richter doesn't pause with his hand, continues touching at Alucard with delightful patience.

Alucard offers him a small rock of his hips, sending his member gliding through Richter's fingers with ease. His voice trembles on the first word as he continues, "Perhaps you don't harbor the same condolences for me. I wouldn't blame you, for I've done a horrible thing by pulling you around this castle. But I also wouldn't lie to you about this."

There's a resigned sigh by his ear, and then the feel of Richter's forehead touching warmly at his shoulder. Alucard's eyes try to find the hunter's, but to no avail. "I must disappoint you then, because you're wrong in assuming that I don't care. But you're also a cruel bastard for doing this." He raises his head, pins Alucard with a look full of mourning. "Asking me to lie with you under the pretense that it'll be the last time we speak, but then admitting that … Goddamn you." Richter shakes his head, and his free hand quickly snags at the back of Alucard's before dragging him into a kiss full of consuming urgency.

Gone is the pretense of patience, ignored in the face of Richter's sudden hunger for him. Alucard is only too happy to hand himself over, terribly guilty of Richter's condemnation and wishing he'd never spoken the words. He'd only succeeded in hurting Richter even further, and now? He's hurt himself as well, because the confession has made his sudden fondness for him grow tenfold. How he'll let the hunter go when night falls again is beyond him.

From there, it's the shucking of clothes and messy, unguided movements that somehow land them with Richter pressed firmly against the sheets, and Alucard now hovering over him, his fingers slicked with oil and quickly working the substance over his cock. He knows not if Richter is nervous at the notion of being taken by a man, and if he is, then he hides it well under the guise of a half-lidded, lust filled gaze. Richter lies beneath him, supple, submissive, resigned to sink into the bed and let Alucard ravish him, because that's the only way he'll be able to chase away the nagging feeling inside his heart. His arms lay strewn by his head, tangled in the covers and buried beneath the mound of pillows, and the sight of the hunter's powerful body being laid before him makes Alucard's eyes flash with desire.

He pulls Richter by his thighs closer to him, sending the hunter's body sliding down the sheets, settles deeply between them with his cock in hand, before guiding its head to his entrance and giving a gentle, yet insistent press. Richter gasps a bit at that, but does a wonderful job of remaining calm as it slowly sips inside. It seems he takes a quick liking to it, even, his eyes fluttering closed and his teeth snapping down to nibble at his bottom lip. Alucard is drawn to the sight of him, lost in his pleased expression as he sinks inside, feeling all the warmth and tightness offered by Richter's body.

"You take to this much better than many others," Alucard can't resist commenting, his lips drawing into a subtle smile, though his brows furrowed from the wonderful pressure around his cock.

"I would have never thought myself a- ahh… the type of person to indulge in these sort of matters." Richter's hand trails toward his own member, his fingers giving the length a few teasing strokes, which has him sighing out a satisfied noise. "But it feels nice. Full... I think I want more."

"I won't keep anything from you," Alucard offers, before slowly withdrawing and earning a shaky gasp from the hunter. He only begins pushing back in once the head of his cock remains, and the noise it draws from Richter is nearly divine. Richter moans against pursed lips, his hips rising ever so slightly to invite Alucard's cock in deeper.

He gets just that, and it seems to touch at something wonderful in him, because his voice catches on a high pitched whimper, his brows drawing downwards as his face contorts with pleasure. Richter arches his back off the bed at the sensation, his lips parting on the noises spilling out of him, "That feels fucking amazing."

"As it should," Comes Alucard's near breathless response. He leans forward, nearly doubles Richter over as his mouth presses a knowing kiss by his ear. "I'll have you delirious by the end of this. I hope you know."

"I hope you will," Richter doesn't shy away from the threat, his teeth finding the edge of Alucard's jawline. His body is suddenly shaken to its core by the hard thrust offered by the dhampir, and the sound that tears its way from his mouth is undeniably a cry. Something inside him seems to love it, and the feeling of his nerves going alight at the cock pushing into him as Richter shaking against Alucard. His hands find purchase in his hair, tangling into the platinum strands with desperate need. "Give me your word that you'll fuck me senseless then."

"I have every intention to."

And he does. Richter spends most of his time holding on for dear life, trying not to shake out of his skin as he's fucked so thoroughly and good, filled so much that the sensation is overwhelming. There's something so primal about it all, visceral with the knowledge that someone was inside him, but God, what a euphoric experience, Richter thinks. His mind quickly becomes clouded with absolute pleasure, blocking out all the fog of his pain and loss, drawing him away from the bleak reality of his world.

He claws and scratches at Alucard's back during the height of it all, raises tender red lines that must heal quickly, for he can feel them in one moment, and then they're gone in the next. The sound of Alucard's breathing at his ear is mesmerizing, especially in the way he can hear it hitch on his harder thrusts and ebb into soft moans at his gentler ones. Richter finds himself wrapping his legs around the dhampir's waist, wanting so desperately to be close to him, to be swallowed up in his arms and body. He shivers from the iciness permeating Alucard's skin, but the contrast between it and his own feverish body only serves to add to his sudden lightheadedness, and thus his pleasure.

Richter feels drunk in that moment, body singing with hot stimulation, mind wonderfully clouded by his own euphoria, and body heating with the sensation of pressure building inside him. And it builds, and builds, and has him nearly keening with how it makes him quiver against Alucard, his thighs trembling around his hips, his toes bowing and his back trying to arch against the weight pinning him. He feels nearly smothered by it all, especially when Alucard covers his mouth with a demanding kiss. It's perhaps the hungriest he's ever had from the dhampir, and it shows with how careless Alucard is with his fangs.

They poke and drag at Richter's tongue and lips, draw forth beads of blood that quickly paint his mouth red. Alucard laps it all up with appreciative moans and mewls, and the blood must add to his arousal, for his thrusts grow harder and more unforgiving. Richter finds himself being jerked against the sheets, the first beginnings of pain mingling in with the pleasure, but the mixture proves to be incredible, for he finds himself begging at the increased tempo, "Yes, yes, fuck yes , don't- don't you st… st- ahh! Mmm…!"

There's a hand grabbing at his hair and pulling him back, and Richter is forced to gaze with wide eyes at Alucard's own molten irises. Only the gold is speckled with bits of jarring red, the color slowly bleeding into them as he licks the remainder of Richter's blood from his lips. Richter is held still and pliant as he's fucked into completion, forced to succumb to the pressure mounting in his groin, and he comes without ever having had his cock touched. It's different, so different from being stroked or buried in someone else. It's all consuming, blinding with its force, and it steals the breath out of his lungs, expends it on a cry that has him almost twisting out of Alucard's hold. He feels his hair being yanked at his sudden movements, commanding him to stay put as Alucard takes his own fill.

And wasn't that an interesting sensation? Richter knows what over-stimulation feels like, but this goes beyond anything he's ever felt before.

He finds himself biting into the pale expanse of Alucard's shoulder, nearly piercing the other's skin with his desperation. He catches himself before his teeth can sink through, and Alucard draws away before it can happen as well, a warning hiss sounding past his lips. The last thing Richter needed was to accidentally ingest the dhampir's blood, but given how intense the sensations that are wracking his body are, he doesn't quite know what else to do with himself, except twist and torture his scalp with the movements and beg for the other to have mercy on him.

"Can't- can't, no more, n-no… more…! A-Alucard, please, for the love of God, pl- hnn!" Richter feels like his body may collapse if Alucard continues fucking him past his limits. Already, he's trembling like a leaf, vividly aware of the spilt come smeared across his stomach and the way his softening cock twitches as if to let him know that there's nothing left to give.

Mercy finds him in the form of Alucard finally, finally finishing. He does so with a series of hard thrusts and moans that send Richter reeling, momentarily checking out as the dhampir above him all but collapses with the end of his effort, his face pressing coldly into Richter's chest, his hair pooling about the both of them like fine spider's silk. Richter's conscious slowly finds him in the coming minutes, and by the time clarity has made itself known again, he finds that Alucard has pulled both of them onto their sides, with his arms cradling Richter possessively against him.

Richter is still breathless when he speaks, and his voice is dangerously close to being hoarse when he does, "I've… never felt that before."

For a while, he gets no response from Alucard. Richter is close to thinking that the other must have fallen asleep, but then Alucard's voice is reaching his ears; soft, sated, affectionate, "You seemed to enjoy it."

"Oh, I did." Richter laughs out weakly, and against his stronger wishes, he can feel the weight of his duty settling over him again, slowly turning his mood bittersweet. He presses his face into the curve of Alucard's neck, hiding away the sudden frown that finds him, "Is this it? This is… the last thing we'll ever do together."

There's fingers in his hair then, soothing the irritated spots of his scalp that still stung dully. Alucard's voice seems to reflect his own mood. "...Yes."

Exhaustion begins weighing down on Richter in that moment; a combination of being spent, being emotionally drained, and now being heartbroken. He can feel the sting of tears at his eyes again, tries to shift his head enough so that Alucard can't feel the dampness of his lashes. Despite himself, despite Alucard's promise and Richter's own belief that he wouldn't live past tomorrow night, he finds himself blurting out the words.

"I'll find you again. Somewhere, somehow, I will."

* * *

Nightfall comes after a terribly restless sleep, and Richter dresses in heavy silence as Alucard lays unmoving in the bed. Whether or not he's awake doesn't matter, for either outcome wouldn't - couldn't change what Richter was about to embark on. He knows well enough that Alucard won't follow him into battle against his father, and to beg the other to slay his only remaining family member would paint Richter as insensitive and selfish - even if it is for the greater good of everyone, including Alucard.

He tries not to spare a glance back at the pale and ethereally beautiful form of the dhampir, tries to command his eyes to face forward and leave without a second look, but Richter is weak to his own heart. His eyes find Alucard's face through his curtain of long, gently waving hair, and indeed, his eyes are closed, though his face appears to be troubled. A restless sleep then, akin to his own. Richter wonders if this will hurt him as much as it will himself.

It may not matter in an hour or two. He could very well be dead, cast away into hell forever, where he belongs after all his failures and transgressions. Perhaps Alucard will forget him either way. Richter wishes that the thought wouldn't hurt him as much as it does, but there's no telling his heart otherwise.

Strange, how much he's grown to like Alucard, despite being resigned to hate him. Fate has indeed been cruel to Richter ever since he stepped foot in this cursed castle.

He could spend the next week lamenting his losses, but Richter knows that his bloodline's duty is more important than his feeble, fickle feelings. He tears his eyes away from Alucard's sleeping form, and with heavy reluctance, gathers his gear surrounding the bed.

The whip feels oddly heavy in his hands as he leaves, separating himself from the last thing he'd come to care for.


End file.
